Halsted Street
by Simahoyo
Summary: We know the parents of Maura Isles and Jane Rizzoli–but what about four generations back? Who were they? How did the name, "Jane" show up in such an Italian family tree? And what was Maura's family like 4 generations back? So many questions, and it all starts with...
1. Chapter 1

Halstead Street, Chapter 1

By Simahoyo

**(We know the parents of Maura Isles and Jane Rizzoli–but what about four generations back? Who were they? What shaped them–their ideas, experiences and attitudes that have come down to a certain Medical Examiner and Detective? How did the name, "Jane" show up in such an Italian family tree? And how did someone from such Irish antecedents wind up blonde and so light skinned? So many questions, and it all starts with...)**

Giovanna Amari worked with her father, mother and two brothers in their tiny, airless, Chicago tenement, hand sewing gloves. They worked from dawn to dark, then by candle light. It was 1890, and they were lucky to have this job, even though it was piece work. Papa Amari had gotten a padrone to help them get work, and find this dark, single upstairs room where they all worked and slept, and ate and fought if they had the energy. He was a wirey man with deep brown eyes and olive skin. He was starting to lose his hair, and a St. Francis spot was at the back of his scalp. He wore torn, but clean pants from the pushcart peddler's. He also had an old shirt with the patched sleeves rolled up out of his way.

The padrone got the cut out gloves in huge bales, bringing them to the Amari's tenement, along with thread and needles. They were expected to finish a bale a day. Two thousand gloves, sewn by hand, between the five of them. Tomasso, aged eight and the youngest, often stuck himself with the needles, and so he was assigned the darkest colors so his blood wouldn't show. Tomasso was small, and sickly. Mama said he needed fresh air–not something they got much of unless they needed to visit the outhouse, where the air was hardly fresh. Francesco was the middle child. Aged 10, he was nearly ready to go find a factory job, but he stayed behind with his family–partly because the Amaris tended to stick together. And partly because he spoke only a little English. He was stocky, like Mama. His eyes were lighter than Papa's, close to a cup of coffee.

Giovanna was a marriageable fourteen, becoming too American for her parent's taste. She had a mind that got too busy. She looked out the window, thinking. And she spoke to American boys on the street. She had curly hair she had trouble controlling, so she wore it up. She was thin and wirey, like Papa, with eyes like mama. She, like many young Italian women, wore an underdress covered by an overdress and apron with pockets for thread and small scissors. The needles were worn on her apron top.

It was after work, and while Mama made supper on the wood stovetop- a slice of stale bread dipped into sauce for each of them, Giovanna leaned out the window, yelling down to the street,

"Pasquale." She didn't know anyone's name, but there were enough Pasquale's that someone would answer. "Do you know the time please?" A young man stopped, smiled up at her, and ran to the jewelers to check the clock outside. Panting, he ran back, calling up, "It's seven o'clock."

"Thank you." And now Giovanna ran her fingers through her hair, grabbed her slice of bread, and headed to the door. "I'm going to the English lesson."

Papa blinked in surprise at her attitude. "You don't ask your father? You just go? Why do you need English anyway. We'll soon find a nice Italian boy for you to marry. You don't go out in the street like an American."

"Papa, I live in America. I want to speak the language. The class is free, and the teachers are high class ladies. I asked around. I could translate for the family. I should go."

Mama set her jaw. She usually deferred to Papa, but here she had her own opinion. "Giovanna, you will marry soon, but having someone to keep us from being cheated in the market and to understand this new land–yes, I believe you should learn English. Papa, let her go and learn for all of us."

Papa threw his hands into the air. "I am surrounded by Americans. Yes, go. But you had better work twice as hard tomorrow–no excuses–understand?"

Giovanna nodded. "I understand."

She clattered down the stairs, stepping over the spot where they had rotted through, and out into the street. They actually lived on Halstead Street, so all she had to do was walk alongside the street, dodging newsies and gangs, as well as horses and wagons trying to move over the piles of garbage. Her nose twitched. Italy smelled better, for sure. Three blocks later, she came up to the big mansion called Hull House, and fought with herself over running away, or going in. As she stood in front, a pretty woman, with a Roman nose and a cross pinned to her dress walked up to her and smiled. She said something in English. Giovanna held her hands out to show she didn't understand. Then something wonderful happened.

"Are you here for the English lessons?" the woman asked in Italian. Giovanna clasped her hands in gratitude. "Yes. I want to learn the English." The woman smiled again, and took Giovanna's arm, gently steering her to the steps and up inside. "I am Ellen Starr. My friend Jane and I live here, and we like to work with new immigrants. I have traveled to Europe several times, and so I learned to speak Italian. I am so glad you came here to learn English." She made it sound perfectly normal for anyone going to another country to learn the language.

Giovanna smiled, nodding happily. "I am Giovanna Amari. I live nearby. I so want to learn the English, not only for me, but for my family." They walked down the hall, in the beautiful home, and into a classroom. Several people were seated together-all working people, Giovanna noticed.

She could see other Italians, Russian Jews, Greeks, and Poles. How they were going to learn together was a mystery to her. She sat in an empty place, next to a Polish woman with blonde hair and clean, but faded clothing. A slightly older woman than Ellen walked into the classroom. She was well dressed, and had a kind face and intelligent eyes. Her back was crooked, but she moved as if she could do anything. She smiled at all of them.

The teacher pointed at herself, saying, "I", then going to each student, she pointed to herself first, "I", then at each student, "You." Giovanna thought about it, then concluded that the first word was the same as, "Mi" and the other the same as, "Si". Giovanna looked at the teacher, pointed to herself, saying "I" and at the teacher, "You." The teacher nodded enthusiastically– "Yes" Soon they all were pointing and saying their first English words.

That night, they learned, "I, You, Man, Woman, Door, Wall, Face, Hand and Leg." Giovanna felt very smart and accomplished. She went home, dealing with the catcalls of the drunks as she walked. She went up the stairs, into their room, and sneaked to her pallet on the floor. Mama opened one eye, smiled at her, and went back to sleep. Giovanna slipped off her outer dress, and under the blanket she shared with Tomasso. Excited as she was, she knew she would have to get to sleep. Papa would never let her take more English lessons if she couldn't work hard. When she slept, she dreamed of talking to people in English.

The next day was the same as always. They rose before dawn, while Mama made a thin gruel of corn meal. It was like polenta, only not nearly as filling. They were all used to their stomachs rumbling most of the day. As they set up for the day's sewing, Giovanna told them about her English lesson. She taught them her new English words, then they all set to the sewing. As they sewed, Giovanna shared her experiences in the wonderful Hull house, where rich, educated ladies taught immigrants from all over. It was like being Columbus and telling about the travels to a new world.


	2. Chapter 2

Halstead Street Chapter 2

By Simahoyo

Munk's Grocery was opening yet another store and Katerina Margareta Munk, 16 and oldest daughter, was expected to be there without question. It was about family. She was family, therefore, she would be there to support Mother and Father, as would Franz Georg, aged 13, and Johannes, aged 10. There were all dressed in their Sunday best. And all the kinder were struggling against the starch in the collars, and cuffs. They liked Father's success. It made them happy that he was so good at being an enterprising member of the middle class. Kate (who chose that nickname herself) had remembered the German history their parents had drummed into her head. It is good to be an honest burger. It is bad to be nobility.

Here in Chicago nobility was equal to the "Robber Barons", as Father called them. The chief of them was Charles Tyson Yerkes, the streetcar magnate. It may be better to be Middle Class, but Kate had other plans. They did not include doing what her stodgy, second generation American parents wanted. Kate wanted to be the next Nellie Bly–the famous New York World reporter. This was her passion. But it had to be a secret passion. She was just ready to graduate from High School, and although she excelled at writing and grammar, she had an eye on learning the newfangled type writer. She held all this in her heart. She knew her parents would disapprove, and Franz George loved to tattle on her for every little perceived wrong-doing. And if they ever discovered that she harbored an even more secret desire to vote–she would be disowned.

The first of the fancy carriages drew up. The driver stopping at the hitching post and stepping stones. This was the signal to man (or woman) the cash registers. Father greeted the lady with the silk dress in the very latest fashion, and the hat barely fit through the doorway. Bird feathers jutted from nearly every angle. She wore pearls around her neck, and lovely soft gloves that looked perfectly hand sewn. Her shoes were also in the latest style. Father greeted her as a knight might greet a queen. He lead her around to see all they had in this new, and large store.

As she shopped, another customer came in. This one was a portly man in a good suit and vest over his silk shirt and cravat. He removed his hat as he entered, and Mother greeted him with her full grace and charm. Franz Georg leaned over and whispered, "Gee whiz don't they look swell?"

Kate glared at him, knowing it wasn't proper to talk about the customers. At last she had the lady ready to have her groceries checked out. Kate's fingers fairly flew over the keys, getting the price right in one try. She took the lady's money and gave proper change, thanking her for her custom.

The rest of the day was more of the same, and by closing time, they were all ready for Mother's good dinner. They walked home, since it was only half a mile, and why should they waste money on the streetcar? When they got home, Mother took the stew off the back of the stove, opening the pot and filling the house with a wonderful smell. Kate cut up some cucumber and a bit of onion to add to apple cider vinegar for their digestion, While Johannes pumped water from the sink for them to drink with the meal. Franz Georg set the table, while Father read the Chicago Daily Tribune. Kate knew she could read it after her chores were done and after she had finished her homework, but she still itched to get her hands on it.

As they sat down to dinner, they joined hands for grace–they were good Lutherans after all. And when Father finished saying grace, they ate quietly, politely, only speaking to ask for something to be passed and to thank Mother for the good food. So went their Saturday.

Sunday started with church. Again in their Sunday best, the Munk family took a streetcar–their big extravagance for the week, to the Good Shepherd Lutheran Church. Pastor Faber was tall and thin, with the dark hair of a Bavarian. His voice was amazing to listen to, and his stories were always fascinating–despite his habit of lapsing into German right at the best part, leaving the rest a mystery to the kinder until Mother or Father told them the ending in English. It being Sabbath, the Kinder were expected to read, write or pursue other quiet activities.

Kate read Harper's Magazine by sliding it inside the Lutheran magazine her parents subscribed to. The Harpers was handed off to her at school by a friend whose family bought one every month. When finished, she handed it on to Millie Gardner, and thus the whole class of 1890 was being educated in ways their parents had not expected. The clock's ticking was the only noise in the parlor, used only on Sabbath and for visitors. The horsehair sofa was prickly beneath Kate's legs and bottom. Absorbed as she was, she failed to see Johannes sneaking up behind her. That was until she felt something small and cool run down her back, and maniacal laughter was she jumped.

Kate felt for the object under her dress, and soon a marble fell out. She closed her reading material for fear of what her parents might have to say if they saw it.

"Hans! Shame on you. Don't put marbles down my back!"

"Johannes. Bring me your marbles." Father's very word was law. Especially when he spoke with this voice. Johannes brought his bag of marbles to Father with a look of fear on his face. He stood, looking up, his chin shaking. Father took the marbles.

"You have done wrong, my son. I will take these until you can show me you are mature enough to care for them properly. Do you understand?"

Johannes nodded, sighing heavily.

"And you may need to wait a few more years for long pants"

"Oh Father, please. Franz Georg has them already. So do Charles and Wendell, and..."

"When I tell you, 'no', don't tell me who."

"Aw. Shucky Darn. Okay. I'll behave. May I please read, _The Deerslayer_ or _Ragged Dick_"?

Father smiled at Han's wheedling ways. "The Deerslayer, yes. Ragged Dick, not on the Sabbath."

"Thank you, Father." Johannes ran off to find his book. Father turned to look at his daughter.

"And what are you reading?"

Kate held the magazines up so that Father could read the outside. He frowned and shook his head. "Katerina Margareta, what are you _reading?_"

Kate sighed, and showed him her Harper's, knowing she would not be able to pass it along to her classmates now. "I'm sorry Father."

He took the magazine, staring at the story she was reading. "Sherlock Homes? Utter nonsense. Why are you wasting your mind on this trash? You could be learning about science or history or your other studies.. I am disappointed in you. Your Mother and I would like to discuss your future with you. Please come into the kitchen with me."

Kate heard music appropriate to the doom facing her inside her mind. It was as cheerless and draggy as she felt. She followed Father into the kitchen, across the wood floor, to the large wooden table where Mother was already seated in a chair. Father indicated that she should sit.

Had they already picked out a husband for her? It was all she needed to destroy her dreams forever.


	3. Chapter 3

Halstead Street Chapter 3

By Simahoyo

Giovanna had studied hard, and by now, 1891, the entire Amari family spoke some English. Alas, poor Papa and Francesco just didn't have the head for it, so their English was halting and they often needed Giovanna, Tomasso or Mama to translate for them. Now Giovanna had a new goal. She wanted to learn to read and write. No, that was too weak. She was obsessed with learning to understand the squiggles on the signs all around her on the street. She craved knowing what was inside the books she saw in shop windows. And she had heard there was something called a library, where anyone could read a book if they went there and got something called a library card.

The latest news in her tenement was that a man who had just moved in to the attic had been a teacher in Hebrew school, and a scholar, who could read and write English. Her goal in life was to meet him and ask if he would teach her in exchange for her doing work for him. Giovanna didn't ask her parents for permission–she knew they worried about young women getting enticed or kidnaped into a life of White Slavery. She shivered as she walked up the stairs to the attic rooms. She heard a baby cry in the first room, and someone coughing in the second. That sounded like an older person. Giovanna knocked on the door. There was a shuffling sound, more coughing and a wheeze, then the door opened.

There stood an old man dressed in thread bare pants, and shirt that had seen better days. His reddened eyes sported blue pupils, and he wore glasses as Giovanna had expected. He wore his hair short everywhere but the side curls, while his long beard was neatly combed. On his head was a yamuka. He looked up at her quizzically.

"Are you Mr..Libovitz, the teacher?" Giovanna was pretty sure he was.

"Yes, I am Rabbi Libovitz. What is it you want with me?"

"My name is Giovanna Amari, I live downstairs, and I am looking for someone to teach me to read and write." Giovanna knew she had spoken too quickly, but she was so excited to possibly find a teacher.

The Rabbi looked at her, considering. "There is an old story about Rabbi Hillel. One day a student came to him and asked that he teach him. For the first lesson, Rabbi Hillel took his student to the river and without a word, pushed his head under. While the student fought and struggled for air, the Rabbi finally let him up. The student was very angry. 'Why did you try to drown me?' The Rabbi said, 'until you want to learn as much as you wanted air, I do not want you for a student.' So, what do you think of this story?"

"That is how much I want to learn to read and write–in English. Will you teach me?"

The Rabbi stroked his beard. "And how do you plan to pay me?"

"I, um, I don't have money. I mean, I live _here_. But I could maybe cook or clean for you–or something like that."

"Are you afraid of a dirty job?"

Giovanna's mind flashed to the stories about ruined girls. "What do you mean by dirty?"

He turned and opened the door wider. "This pot belly stove. I cannot get it to work, and without it, I have no way to cook, to keep kosher, or even keep warm in the winter. Please. Do you know how to fix it?"

Giovanna grinned. She and Papa had often tinkered with their cantankerous pot bellied stove.

"Yes. It is not so hard as it looks–just very dirty. Do you have rags? And newspapers. Do you have newspapers?"

The Rabbi looked puzzled. "Rags, yes–but newspapers?"

"To use on the floor to keep it clean" , explained Giovanna. "Never mind, I know Mama has some for covering the floor after she washes it. I will ask her for some. I will be back very soon."

Giovanna was down the stair and in their room, stepping carefully over the piles of gloves and people. "Mama, have you any newspapers I may use? The Rabbi upstairs wants me to help him to fix his pot bellied stove."

Mama held up her hand for quiet. She and Tomasso were sewing gloves, and Giovanna was supposed to be helping them. Papa and Francesco had factory jobs by now. Mama was not happy looking at the moment.

Giovanna took her Mother's hands in hers and poured out her soul. "Oh Mama, the Rabbi said that if I will help him with his stove, he will teach me to read and write, and then I can teach everyone–just as we did with the English. If I can learn, I can get a good job, and no more gloves. In only a year we all learned the English–What if we were all educated? Mama, please, let me do this, for all of us."

"It sounds good, but we need money. The rent has been raised.. If you are reading and writing, you are not sewing. Maybe we can't afford your dreams."

Giovanna was ready to cry. She crossed herself."Mama, I promise I will go to Hull House and ask if they know of any jobs I can do. Many of my friends there work in factories, making even enough to live in nicer places. I will do anything to learn to read and write."

"Take the newspapers–but don't tell your Papa. And you must clean your own clothes so you are presentable to look for a good job."

Giovanna hugged and kissed Mama, picked up the newspapers, and thanking her every step of the way, went back upstairs to the Rabbi's.

Giovanna covered the floors with news papers, opening the stove and looking inside. It was very dirty indeed, and Giovanna knew that dirt could cause fire, killing everyone in the crowded building. She tried the damper, which was stuck. No wonder the stove didn't work. The damper needed to be open for air to reach the fire. It was stuck closed. Giovanna started by cleaning out the grate, and stove body from the ashes. They were cold, so the cleaning was messy, but easy. She wrapped them in some of the newspapers. Now came the hard part. She cleaned out the stove itself, removing the creosote–black as coal.

By now the Rabbi had candles lit. Giovanna would have to be very careful with the next step. She eased apart the stove pipe, cleaning the creosote out carefully. She scrubbed the damper, then noticed an area around the part that opened and closed it was bent. Giovanna took off her shoe and beat it back into shape. Now it moved under her control. Everything was clean except for Giovanna. As the stove grew cleaner, she grew filthier. Papa would be very angry. Still, she remembered the young man in the story. Giovanna would learn to read and write, then go the Public Library–her idea of paradise on earth.

She put all the parts together again, and started a tiny fire with some of the newspapers. The Rabbi had Lucifers on a shelf not far from the stove. He looked up from the book he was reading, walked over to examine the stove, and smiled. "This is beautiful, Giovanna. You have a logical and orderly mind. You will be a good student. You are now in charge of this stove. You will make the fires, keep it clean and learn to read and write."

Giovanna nearly jumped up and down, but she could see the mess, and only half of her cleaning was done. Not to mention cleaning herself. She poured out her thanks, then started to clean the floor, gather up the newspapers and rags. She raised an eyebrow to the Rabbi. "Do you want the rags cleaned?" He shook his head."

"It appears you have enough to clean when you get home. Members of my congregation will help me to find rags. Will your mother and father forgive you this mess on your clothes?"

Giovanna was no liar. "I don't know. If you hear a noise, it is Papa, roaring. I will see when I get home." She would have shaken hands, but she was covered in black–creosote and ash. Instead she nodded, and left, sneaking down the stairs now, and keeping an eye out for Papa or Francesco. So far, good luck. She opened the door to their room, where Mama had prudently made a path in newspaper for Giovanna to the stove with water ready to heat. Giovanna started the water, and saw that Mama had set out soap, and the washing board. Giovanna stripped to her underdress, putting the filthy clothes into the washtub. She had cleaned the worst of the grime from her hands while waiting for the water to boil. She had just poured hot water into the washtub when the door opened, and Papa walked in.

**(A/N: RE: The great Irish debate. My ancestors lived in the Northwest of Ireland. They were slightly darker skinned, with black hair and eyes. The light ones tended to come from the cities–which were built by the Vikings. These are the blonde, blue eyed Irish. Turn of the Century Irish tended to marry Germans. Thus we get the blonde, blue-eyed Irish in the USA.)**


	4. Chapter 4

Halstead Street Chapter 4

By Simahoyo

Kate sat at the kitchen table, her mind spinning and her heart pounding. Did her parents expect her to marry some man sight unseen? What about her great plans to report for the Chicago Daily Tribune?

Mother spoke first. "You will graduate in just two months. Have you considered what you want to do before you marry?"

Kate almost let out a breath of relief. But she knew better than to alert her parents to what she was worried about. "I would like to learn type writing. Many young women are getting good job with that skill. And I already know how to use the cash register, thanks to you and Father." _(Flattery never hurt)_ Kate tried to look as mature as possible.

Father harumphed. "We have decided you should be engaged to be married when you are 18. This gives you some time to learn a trade in case your husband should leave you a widow. This type writing. It isn't a fad or passing fancy, is it?"

"Type writing allows one person to make a letter look as if it has been typeset and printed. It is very popular with businessmen and others with a lot a correspondence." (Kate was avoiding any mention of newspapers or publishing.). "Young women are in high demand for this because our fingers are thinner and quicker. You have seen me use the cash register. You know I am fast."

Mother clicked her tongue. "Ah but your spelling! You will need to learn to spell better. For graduation, I will give you a dictionary of your very own."

"Thank you, Mother. That is a wonderful present."

"And I will give you these type writing lessons."

"Oh Father, that is.."_(Calm down)_ "So kind of you. Thank you."

So Kate Munk was turned loose on the unsuspecting teachers of the Chicago school of Type Writing in July of 1890. Her inability to spell, despite many hours perusing the new dictionary, made her the worst type writer in the class. She would spend all her time looking at the keys, and trying to remember how to spell the words. Frustrated, and angry with herself for wasting Father's money, she decided she need to ask an expert about any possible future as the next Nellie Bly.

She took the street car to her old high school, knowing the classes were ended, but teachers were still inside. She automatically found her way to her former English teacher's room. The door was ajar, so she knocked quietly, and waited for his formal, "Enter."

Mr. Hays was seated at his desk, looking no different than he had two months ago, but Kate knew she was different now. He stood, because she had entered the room, making Kate feel so adult.

"Miss Munk. How are ? And what brings you back?"

"I have a problem, and I thought you might be able to advise me. Do you have the time?"

"Please, be seated. Have you run into this problem due to your rather atrocious spelling?"

Kate smiled ruefully. "As you predicted. Writers and reporters need to know how to spell. I don't understand why it so hard for me. I am in a class to learn type writing, and I am the worst student there. I'm usually one of the better students. Father paid for the class, and I'm like to die before telling him that his money has been thrown away."

"I suspect, since I have seen so many examples of your attempts to spell, that you may be confusing German and English spellings. You do speak German, don't you?"

Kate's mind was spinning, looking back over past mistakes (and there were so many). Yes, that was probably why. "I think you may be right. So, what do I do? I find knowing German to be an advantage."

"In those Holmes stories you are so fond of, doesn't Mr. Holmes say that his mind has many rooms, and the thoughts furnish them. So, couldn't you try to have a German room and an English room?" His thick eyebrows rose in a question.

"I might. But, Sir, my class is nearly over, and I still lack the skills I need. Oddly, I am very good on the cash register. It's too bad there isn't a job for me with numbers. Other than in a grocery, which would be rather embarrassing. I could then write after work."

"This is a good plan. Especially since I just read of a new adding machine which can add so many figures, that it makes banking much faster. Tell me, Miss Munk, what were your grades in arithmetic like?"

Kate grinned proudly. "Always above ninety percent. Do you think I could be trained in how to use this new machine?"

Mr. Hay's face registered triumph. "As it happens, the First Bank of Chicago is teaching the new machine to those interested in working for them. There is no spelling required."

Kate's inner voice was shouting hurrah, then her mind stopped her quick as a bandleaders baton.

"But, is that open to women?"

"I'm afraid that is something you'll have to discover for yourself. Might I also suggest you find someone who is interested in writing, and who can type. You may be able to collaborate."

After giving him her enthusiastic thanks, Kate went to the school library to look in their telephone book. She wrote the address and telephone number of the bank in the reporter's notebook she always kept in her bag, and dropped it back inside. It was time to see where she could find a telephone that was private enough to use to make an appointment with the bank. Another gift from her parents upon graduation were calling cards of her very own. She was ready to try her new plan. But wait. She was at her school. It might be prudent to get some record of her education and accomplishments.

Kate returned to the office, waiting for someone to greet her. Mr. Krepletz looked up at Kate and smiled.

"Miss Munk. May I help you?"

"I would like an official letter stating my grades, especially in arithmetic, and my deportment, as well as my graduation, please."

He raised an eyebrow. "Certainly it isn't because you have to work, is it?"

"Oh no. Father wants me to be prepared in case I ever become a widow. I need to learn enough to support myself and family in that case."

"Yes, I believe that is wise. This will take a little time. Would you take a seat please? Oh, and if I remember correctly..." He handed her an issue of Harper's weekly. She smiled broadly and started to read. Lost in the reading, Kate didn't hear her name being called at first. When she finally looked up, Mr. Krepletz was standing in front of her with the letter, written and blotted carefully, new, and lovely and official. She resisted the urge to grab it, took it from his hand, smiling and thanked him. She practically skipped down the stone stairs to the street car stop.

It was the corner candy shop where Kate used the telephone to call the bank. Since the proprietor knew her parents, she was carefully quiet. She asked about the class for the adding machine operators, only to be told that the bank had expected that the jobs would be for young men. _(This was the worst day ever!)_ She thought about the letter from the school.

"May I send you a letter from my school that I hope will change their minds? I have very good grades, and know who to use a cash register...please." (That _please_ was a prayer). Kate held her breathe.

"I suppose I would do that. Do you have our address?"

"Yes, I do. To whom should I address it?"


	5. Chapter 5

Halstead Street Chapter 5

By Simahoyo

Papa took one look at Giovanna and turned red. "What have you been doing?!"

Giovanna looked down at her laundry, and replied, as if it was simply reasonable, "My laundry."

"I can see that. Why are you doing it? "

"It was dirty."

Now Papa was getting worked up. He charged up close to her, waving his hands. "How did you get so filthy?"

"I helped the Rabbi upstairs clean his stove."

Papa stopped waving his arms. He looked at Giovanna as if seeing her for the first time. "I have heard he is very old. It was good of you to do that." Papa thought for a minute. "Did he pay you?"

"He is going to teach me to read and write the English. Then I will teach all of us. Just think, Papa–we will all be able to write our names."

Papa's face changed then. He looked hopeful and sad–both. "I feel so small when I have to make my mark to sign papers I cannot read. It makes me feel less than a man. Learn this for us, Giovanna. You must also continue to work, you know that, but please, be our Columbus."

Giovanna leaned away from Papa, to keep the dirt from him, and kissed his cheek. Papa turned red, and smiled. "Mama, I'm hungry. What do you have for us?"

Giovanna found the alphabet just a bit challenging, even after the Rabbi explained that it was invented by the Romans. When she was finally able to identify the big letters, she was having to face the little ones, who all looked different. She started to understand just a little when the Rabbi showed her Hebrew letters, so she could see that different people wrote and read in different ways. She was proud when they went out walking to show him that she could tell the Hebrew letters from the ones she was learning.

Giovanna found a boy who had to stop school to work in the factory. He had a slate and slate pencil. She did some cleaning for his family, and came away with the precious tools of learning. This was her entrance into writing all on her own. She learned from McGuffey's Reader, the same as all Americans first learned from. Soon she could read, "I see a cat. No it is a rat."It was now so hot inside that the two of them sat outside under a street lamp, as her reading and writing lessons continued.. Her proudest moment so far came that night as she moved her slate pencil forming words that meant a great deal to her.

G-i-o-v-a-n-n-a A-m-a-r-i.

"Is that right? Did I do it?"

The Rabbi chuckled. "You did it, and it is correct."

"Oh, oh, my, I signed my own name! I won't have to make a mark ever again!" She stood and did a little tarantella in place as the Rabbi laughed. "Thank you Rabbi. This is such a gift–I can write my name. Would you show me how to write my parents' names too? Aldo Amari and Maria Amari. I want to show them too."

"Giovanna, you have a good heart. Here, this is how to write your father's name " And he showed her. It didn't take more than a few tries for her to get her father's name and then they worked on her mother's. Giovanna found it easier as she wrote. She was bursting with the notion of teaching her parents to sign their names. But, as she looked up from her slate, she noticed the Rabbi coughing and struggling to catch his breath. She stood and gently patted his back. He was so frail, she was afraid to do it any harder.

"Rabbi, have you thought of going to Hull House to see if anyone can help you? Jane is very good at nursing, and sometimes a doctor will visit."

"Such a good young woman. Your parents are very lucky. I have seen a doctor, I am old, and my lungs were ruined long ago working in the cloth mills. There is nothing to be done, but I will live as well as I can for as long as God gives me."

Giovanna's eyes filled with tears of sympathy. "I'm lucky you chose to spend that time teaching me. Is there anything I can do?"

"Learn, and teach others. Just as you planned to do."

Giovanna took his hands in hers and promised, "I will. And I will tell everyone what a good Jewish Rabbi taught me."

Giovanna learned to read and write very well by the time the Rabbi left her. She even attended his funeral, feeling only a little out of place. But the congregation was kind to her, and Giovanna's heart hurt a little less at his passing.

Giovanna fulfilled her promise to her mother, and went to the Jane Club, to ask about factory jobs. She knew so many of the girls, and they were happy to pass on any information they had. Giovanna discovered there was a job sewing with machines and only half a mile away. It was sewing shirtwaists, the height of fashion at the time.

It was with a light heart that she presented herself to the manager to ask for a job.

The factory was filled with women sitting at the new sewing machines. The noise from the machines made a whirring so loud, it was hard to hear. There could be little talking while sewing.

Giovanna looked at how the machines worked. She liked machines. A belt turned a wheel, and she was sure that inside were gears to make the needle go up and down. The thread sat on top, spinning as the sewing went fast, like a streetcar. She wondered how they made it all go.

Then she looked down at the wonder before her eyes. There was a plate under each woman's feet. They would push it up and down, and this made everything else go. "Wonderful.", she said to herself.

The manager looked at her oddly. "You like machines? So many women are afraid of them. And you speak English. It's too bad you can't read and write..."

"But I can."

The manager's face lit up like Italy. "We may have another job. Can you write letters?"

"If you tell me what you want it to say, yes. I can read the printing, but not the writing.."

"Come with me."

Giovanna followed him through the twists and turns of the factory to a little room, with a big desk, and a door into another room. The desk had the strangest machine she had ever seen. It bristled with keys, like a hedgehog. Looking closed, she saw that each key led to a lever with something engraved on the top. A black ribbon was threaded through, and a bar of some sort was at the bottom. Giovanna was fascinated. "What is that?"

"It is a type writer. Sit, I'll show you how it works." Giovanna sat behind the desk, while the manager knelt next to her. He took a piece of paper, pushed it in the top of the machine. Tinkered with some tiny levers, and the paper was straight. Then he reached over to the side to turn a wheel. The paper moved. There had to be a moving part underneath. Now the paper was close to an eye as for a giant needle, and the manager pushed down a key. A letter appeared.

"Oh, this is a wonderful machine. May I try?" At the manager's nod, Giovanna pushed down more keys, spelling out, "H-i-r-e m-e." The manager laughed happily. "Yes." You come here tomorrow, and I will teach you this machine. You will work for all of us, but your immediate boss is Mr. Johnston."

He got up and brushed off his knees, then walked to the inner door and knocked. "Mr. Johnston, I have found a young lady to work the type writer."

The door opened, and a man about Papa's age walked out. "Good day, Miss..."

"Amari. This is a good day. I like your machine."

"I like your attitude. Please report here tomorrow at dawn. You will not start your pay until you learn the machine. Understand?"

Giovanna was disappointed, but smiled confidently. She knew she could learn this machine. And meanwhile, she would have to work sewing gloves. "Yes. How long is the work for each day? I only ask because I still have work to do at home."

"We are a modern factory. We leave at sunset. And your pay, which you should ask about before taking a job, is four dollars a week, minus the cost of ruined paper because of mistakes. What do you think of that?"

"I could pay most of our rent myself. That is wonderful."

And so Giovanna became the first office worker in her family. She learned the new machine during the day, and sewed gloves at night. And when she started to get paid, she still sewed gloves to help out her family. She was getting better and better at the new machine, and seldom had to pay for ruined paper.

On Sunday night, Giovanna took a break for sewing, and went to Hull house to learn the latest gossip and news. She found several of the Janes (factory girls) gathered, putting jigsaw puzzles together and chatting.

"Giovanna. How are you?" Said her good friend Bronislawa. Gerta and Regina looked up and smiled, while Senka patted the seat near her. Giovanna joined them. "I am doing so much. I work in an office, doing type writing, and in the evenings, I sew gloves. This helps my family so much. It is good to know how to read and write. I recommend it to everyone."

Gerta looked a little sad. "I can read and write, but only in Swedish.. I can speak English–we were all in the same English class, but what we need is a class to read and write in English."

"I think we should do that. I love your idea." Ellen Starr was standing there grinning at them.

"Would you all go to the class?"

"I would", said Senka. My people use a different alphabet, so I have a lot to learn. Bronislawa added her voice. "Oh yes, I do want to learn. Maybe we could get good jobs like Giovanna."

"I don't see why not. You are all very quick to learn. I had to work to keep up with you.", said Giovanna.

"Done, I will start planning tomorrow." Ellen walked away, and Bronislawa turned to Giovanna.

"You will never believe who was in her earlier. A rich girl is looking for a type writer to help her write stories. She wants to send them to the newspaper.."

"Do you know how to reach her? It might be more fun than sewing gloves."


	6. Chapter 6

Halstead Street Chapter 6

by Simahoyo

Kate knew she would have to break the bad news to her mother and father. She dragged herself home, feeling bedraggled, although she knew she didn't look it. Entering the house, she looked for her parents. Mother was sewing fancy work in the sitting room. Father was smoking his cigar and reading the Chicago Daily News. Kate felt even worse.

"Mother, Father. May I talk with you?"

They looked up, and both looked worried. Mother put aside her sewing, and Father put down his newspaper. Kate stood in front of them like a naughty schoolgirl, looking down while she made her confession.

"I am so sorry to have to say this, but I am failing my type writing class. I wasted your money, Father, and I'm feeling so bad to have done this to you. Please forgive me."

Father was very quiet. His moustaches moved as his mouth twitched. "Katerina Margareta, Have you considered what you would do if you were widowed?" My grandmother took in washing. They were very poor. We do not want this for you. You could have children to raise. What will you do?"

"I have applied to learn the adding machine at Chicago First Bank. They said it was for men, but I talked them into taking my letter from school, and I will add one from the head of Munk Groceries that I can use an adding machine–if he would be so kind."

Her parents looked at each other, somewhat amused, and smiled. "I'm sure he would be happy to do that.", said Mother.

And so with the help of her parents, Kate became the first woman to learn how to use an adding machine at Chicago First Bank. Her new job gave her the leisure to have Sunday off, and to work only 12 hours each day. There was even time off for lunch. Kate felt rich, making a whole four and a half dollars a week. She didn't need to spend her earnings for anything, so she saved it to pay a type writer to help her with her dream. All through 1891 she worked and saved–proud that she was able to make her own way, should she need to. At times she was called to the main floor of the bank to translate for those still speaking German. Kate felt very useful.

It was one of these immigrants who told her about Hull House. As Kate translated for the old woman wearing old-fashioned Bavarian clothing, she was asked about English classes.

"I wouldn't know. My grandparents came from Rhineland-Pfaltz."

A Russian waiting in line spoke to her in German, "Send her to Hull House. That's where I learned English. The class is free and you can learn in a year."

"Hull House?"

"It's a huge house on Halstead Street where some ladies help immigrants. It's very nice. She'll like it. You can take a streetcar to the front door."

So Kate spent a few days quizzing various children of immigrants to find out about Hull House.

What she found out made her determined to visit the place at her first opportunity.

That Sunday, Kate sneaked off after church, and took the streetcar to Halstead Street. As she rode from the comfortable homes on Grand Boulevard down toward the industrial, then the tenement areas. Kate's eyes widened as she looked at the ramshackle buildings crowded so close together that sunlight had to fight to get in. The streets were filled with garbage, and small children played on the hills of refuse. Gangs of young men stood around, hands in pockets, looking tough. Little boys who looked half starved sold newspapers. People still dressed in the colorful clothing of the old country (Which ever one it might be), mixed with those in threadbare American clothing, buying half rotten produce and frightening looking and smelling meat from pushcarts. As they came to her stop, she gaped at the huge mansion in the center of all this poverty.

Kate got off the streetcar and walked to Hull House. As she approached the door, a small boy ran out the door, laughing, and another ran after him. Kate was used to dodging Hans and Franz George, so she just went back to the door and knocked. The door opened, and a young girl dressed in the same sort of clothing she had seen of the street, worn, clean, and carefully patched.

The girl was clean and her hair carefully combed. She looked to be about 14, and Jewish.

"You're knocking? Anyone can walk in. Everyone is welcome here. Come on in." She opened the door further and motioned to Kate to come in. Kate followed her. "This has to be your first time here. Are you volunteering?"

"Uh, no, I just heard about this place and wanted to see it for myself. Sometimes I translate for Germans where I work, and someone told me all about it. It sounded very interesting."

"I'll tote you around then. My name is Yaffa. What's your name?"

"Kate."

Yaffa gave her a slightly disbelieving look. "Just Kate?"

"Katerina Margareta Munk. But please, I prefer Kate."

"I don't blame you. So I'll show you the reading and game rooms." They went into a room filled with bookshelves and books, newspapers Kate would have like to have read, but didn't like to be rude. Shop and factory girls were reading and doing puzzles. They walked up to the girls. "We have a visitor–Kate. Her first time at Hull house. These are Bronislawa. Gerta and Regina. And Senka is over there."

They looked up and smiled. Regina grinned. "Hello Kate. I know Yaffa wants to show you everything. Come back when you finish and we can talk."

"I will."

They continued along, seeing the huge kitchens, the beginnings of the Museum of Labor...

"What is this Museum of Labor?", asked Kate.

"Jane wanted to help the generations understand each other She got old ladies from all around that knew how they used to make things–like how to spin and weave all by hand. And now we come in and find out what our mothers and grandmother used to do. It took a long time, and a lot of skill. My Grandmother shows how to do lace making when they are here. You should come back and see."

"Very interesting. I will try. I have to sneak out because Father would be angry."

Yaffa looked at Kate with a glint in her eye. "So do I. That's fathers for you."

They looked at each other in total understanding. As they continued the tour, Kate was astonished to discover a dorm for factory girls, with low rents she would have been easily able to afford. After that they saw a real little theatre for the neighbors to put on plays. And some newsboys eating sandwiches sat quietly (for boys) in another room filled with the types of things her brothers loved–marbles, windup toys and Dime Novels..

After the tour, Yaffa lead Kate back down to the puzzle room. The same girls were still there, and Yaffa left her with them.

"Hello, I'm back." Bronislawa moved over to make room for Kate, and so did Gerta. Kate sat between them. "How long have you been coming here?"

"I started here for English classes. That was about a year ago. I still have an accent, but people understand me.", said Gerta. "I did too." added Bronislawa. It was much easier than I thought it would be. Of course, Most of us already spoke more than one anyway. I knew Polish and Russian. Gerta, what did you speak besides Swedish?"

"Norwegian. Very close to English too. Made it very easy to learn."

Regina broke in, "I spoke Italian and also Calabrese and Greek. I like the English. It sounds nice, and I talk more in the English."

Senka giggled. "She sure does. I of course speak Serbian, and Croatian. I also know a little bit of Albanian."

"Don't forget the English.", laughed Regina.

"And you?" asked Gerta.

"I speak German. Not perfectly, mind you, I'm third generation American."

They all stared at her. "Oh, that's a long time. That means" Senka counted on her fingers..."There's you, your parents and grandparents. That's very American."

"But Jane, her family has been here for a longer time even. I cannot really imagine that. Such a long time." Of course it was Regina who spoke.

Senka shook her head, trying to picture that. Kate turned towards the whole group. "I did come her with a special reason. I am looking for someone who knows how to use the type writing machine. Do you know anyone?"

Bronislawa nodded. "Yes. Our friend Giovanna can use that machine. She's very good. Her fingers go so fast. We will tell her. Is it a job?"

"Of sorts. I want to write some stories for the Chicago Daily Tribune, and I am such a bad type writer. I do need someone to help me." Kate noticed most of then looked at her as if she had lost her mind, yet Gerta nodded introspectively.

"Like Nellie Bly." said Gerta.

"Exactly. I will leave a calling card with you and maybe Gio...?

"Giovanna."

"Will find a way to reach me."

Kate left, thanking the girls for their comments and help. Her mind was spinning. Hull House itself was a story. She would have plenty to think about. If she could convince her parents that she was a volunteer here, which she would actually have to do so she wouldn't actually be lying..." An Italian girl with very curly dark hair passed her in the hallway. Kate continued her trek to the door, and out, lost in thought as she walked toward the streetcar stop.

She was waiting when the same girl she had passed came up to her, holding a calling card in one hand. "Are you, Katerina Margareta Munk?", she asked. She stood taller than Kate, with brown eyes, and a very determined look on her face.

"I am. Are you Giovna?"

Giovanna laughed. "You tried. It is Giovanna. Remember 'vanna'. You want someone to use the type writer? "

"Yes, but I don't know where I can get one to use. I should have thought of that." Kate's voice was unsure.

"I heard you want to be a newspaper reporter.. This should be interesting."

Kate heard the sarcasm in Giovanna's voice. "Actually, we should talk about that, but only after I find some way to use a type writer. I really should have thought of that." Kate looked at her shoes.

"I will ask. You would be amazed at how the news travels around here. Also I know many people, those of no importance, but it is like a tribe of mice. So many can do things together, that one big dog many not. Leave this to me. How shall we speak later?'

" I will try to be here next Sunday. I have to sneak away. Father and Mother would be angry, but if I volunteer at Hull House..."

"My Papa and I just argue until one of us wins. I am usually the winner. I will be here next Sunday. Look for me in the reading room. I come after Mass, so that would be afternoon."

"Good, and thank you." The streetcar was pulling to a stop, so they waved at each other.

Kate's ride home was half dreams of the future and half worry. She had plenty to do.

At Hull House, Giovanna scouted the rooms for Jane, Ellen or Mary Keser. One of them might have an idea about a type writing machine she could use. At last, she located Mary in the pantry. Giovanna just pitched in and helped shelve donations. "Mary. I have a possible extra job if I can find a type writer I could use sometimes. Have you perhaps heard anything about one.?"

Mary stopped and looked at Giovanna.

"We have had one donated, but it is in poor condition. You have a reputation of being handy. If you could fix it, perhaps it could be used by everyone?"

"Oh Mary...that would be wonderful. May I see it? Where is it?"

"Storeroom. Dig around, you'll find it. You might even find better tools that your shoe."

Giovanna ran to the storage room in the basement, opening the door to the clutter of sad donations huddled like immigrants on an overcrowded boat. Giovanna started digging, careful not to tear her skirt. Finally, under a heap of meat grinders, metal trays, and cast iron toys, there was the magical machine. It was dirty and a little dented, but the keys were tangled together in ways never meant by the inventor. Giovanna carefully set it aside and looked for tools. She found pliers, something she had seen used in the factory where she worked. And then, much better than her shoe, a small hammer. Giovanna cradled the tools on top of the machine and carried them up to a workroom she knew men often used to fix things.

Setting up, she thought of the Rabbi, and her stove repair and cleaning. She would definitely need a rag or two. After finding them, she began to try to untangle the keys. Who knew if she could fix it.

**A/N Finally they meet. There is plenty ahead, so much happened in those years. I'd love to hear your opinions.**


	7. Chapter 7

Halstead Street 7

by Simahoyo

**A/N The hardest chapter to write so far. I hope it works for you. Please LMK what you think.**

The Janes who liked to work the jigsaw puzzles were gathered together for two reasons that Sunday. The first was to see if the rich girl, Kate, would return. And the second to discover if Giovanna had gotten a type writer. As usual, it was Regina who lead the others on a search for their friend. Senka was in a holiday mood. She had gotten a new bow for her hair. The English reading and writing class would be starting and she looked forward to finding out what the curious English letters meant. Gerta was thoughtful (what else was new?) and quiet, while Bronaslawa towered over the rest, looking around Hull House. She was the one who spotted the machine, shining in a place of honor at a table in one of the classrooms.

"Look, it is the type writer. How did Giovanna do it?" They crowded around, admiring the machine. Regina pushed down a key and it made a snapping sound. She jumped back.

"Don't touch it. We haven't permission.", said Gerta.

The clumping of shoes behind them turned out to belong to Jane. She smiled kindly at the group.

"I see you found our type writer. It was donated, and it was a sorry little machine, all tangled together. Giovanna fixed it, and now everyone can use it, if they learn to do it properly. If you would like to learn, Giovanna will show you one at a time. She isn't here, but she usually arrives after church."

"That is so good Jane. Thank you. We also want to know about the reading and writing class. Ellen said it would be... _börja ..._I have lost the English word." Gerta looked stricken.

"Those classes will begin as soon as we find a teacher. Miss Crane might be available again. I'll call on her at first opportunity to ask. Are any of you hungry? I know young ladies often are. We have some nice things in the kitchen and you are welcome to ask Mary. "

"Thank you, yes.", said Regina. The others chimed in and they were gone. Jane chuckled to herself at the predictability of the girls, and went on her way. The door opened, and a young woman dressed very nicely, followed by her parents came in the door. The parents looked around, carefully–withholding judgement, Jane thought."

"Welcome to Hull House. I'm Jane Addams."

The small blonde was looking both determined and nervous. Obvious signs of a would-be volunteer. Jane smiled. "Do come in and sit. The sitting room is very comfortable."

She lead them in, and waited while they seated themselves. "We founded Hull House two years ago, in order to help immigrants and others get the education, health care and other things they want and need to succeed in life. Ellen Starr and I were college friends, and we toured Toynbee House in London, which is our original model for Hull House. We teach classes in English, French, German, Latin, Chemistry, Social Science, Shakespeare, Gymnastics...something for every neighbor."

Kate's father leaned back in the chair, startled. "You teach all of that? To immigrants and the poor?. Amazing." He turned to his daughter. "Did you want to volunteer here? Is that why you brought us?"

That defiant look crossed her face again, and Jane could see what this young woman was doing. Jane spoke directly to the girl. "May I speak with you for a minute, please" Kate followed Jane into another room.

"Are you interested in volunteering? Or is there something you are keeping from your family and me? Not a bad thing, but a dream of yours?"

Kate's face darkened, even though Jane had spoken kindly.

"Father and Mother have decided my future for me. I would like to do some things on my own. My father has no respect for writers, and that's what I need to do. It's as if I don't have a choice. Giovanna said I should just tell him, like she does with her father, but she doesn't know them. You know how Germans are. They define stubborn."

Jane shook her head smiling. "I have heard that about Italians, Greeks, Jews, Polish, Bohemians and Russians too. Always from their children. I have seen that young people have the energy and the heart to make changes to our society. It is important not to kill your dreams. But parents worry about their children. What is your dream?"

Kate's eyes blazed with something. "I want to be the next Nellie Bly. I want to be a reporter for the Chicago Daily Tribune. They would be scandalized. So I felt it would be better not to tell them the truth. Can't I just tell them I'm a volunteer?"

Jane thinned her lips, looking Kate straight in the eyes. "No. I don't lie. I don't encourage anyone associated with Hull House to lie–if we do, we lose the trust of our neighbors and we might as well not exist."

Kate's face colored. "Father and Mother will never allow this dream of mine. I may as well give up."

"You don't seem the giving up type. What exactly did you need Hull House for?"

"I wanted someone who could use a type writer to help me submit my stories. I took a typing class, and I am no good at it. Giovanna is very good with the machine. I wanted to pay her to make my work presentable."

"So you have made a friend in Giovanna?"

"I believe I have. She is very intelligent, and nice. I could learn from her. Would you be offended if I honestly told my parents that I have made a friend and want to work with her on things we have in common?"

Jane's face softened. "As long as you don't follow up with an untruth. Are you ready to speak with your parents?"

They walked together into the Sitting Room. The Munks were sitting, stiff backed, and frowning. Kate stood in front of them Her face held more determination than fear.

"Mother, Father...I am here not to volunteer, but because I have found a friend, and we share some interests. I wanted to be able to come here and spend some time together. Do I have your permission to do that?"

Her parents looked at each other, speaking without words. "We need to meet this friend." said her father. Kate knew that was what he would say.

"She isn't here right now. She comes in after church.", said Kate, knowing that this would earn her points until they discovered she was an Italian catholic. It wasn't as if she wanted to marry her.

Fortunately, she heard familiar footsteps. Who else had such a confident walk? Giovanna walked into the room, and grinned at Kate.

"Hello. Have you seen the machine yet? I fixed one that was donated." Suddenly Giovanna noticed Kate's parents sitting there, staring at her. She pulled back some of her personality, and looked a question a Kate.

"Giovanna, my parents, Mr. And Mrs. Munk. Mother and Father, this is Giovanna Amari."

"It is good to meet you. It is nice that you took the time to come here and see Hull House, It has helped everyone in the neighborhood. I learned English here, along with many of my friends."

"Giovanna. What do you do for a living?", asked Father.

Giovanna smiled warmly. "I use the type writer for a shirtwaist factory. It is fun. I really like the work. I also help at home by sewing gloves."

A look of mild approval crossed his face. "And what is it you have in common with Kate?"

"We both have an interest in the type writing machine, and in the people who live and work here."

"Did you say you fixed a machine?", asked Mother"

Giovanna smiled. "Oh yes. I enjoy fixing things."

The Munks looked at one another, spoke in rapid German, which Kate thought rude, and although she was not as proficient as her parents, was hearing things she liked. She knew to keep her face blank and wait for their decision. Finally they stopped _gespielen_ and Father addressed them.

"Katerina Margareta, we believe you might learn a thing or two here. The house seems safe enough, and Giovanna strikes us as a hard worker. It would be good for you, we believe, to be here on your Sundays after church. It is good that your friend also attends church. You may come here on Sunday afternoons unless it interferes with your work."

"May I stay today, then?"

"Yes, you may."

Kate's face reflected her joy. "Thank you, Father, Mother. This is something I believe will be good for me."

Kate walked her parents out the door. Giovanna came up behind her and grinned. "It worked."

"Jane told me I had to be honest. If I had lied, it would reflect badly on Hull House. And telling the truth worked. Maybe I should try it more often."

"Good. Now come and see the machine. You could tell about some of the people here. Jane could introduce you to so many of them. And you could talk to my family–if Papa will do it without roaring at me. I could get him to talk. He has a good story to tell."

"Would he mind if his story was in a newspaper?"

"We will not know until we ask him."

"If the Tribune should hire us, what name shall the reporter have? I cannot use my own. If both of us contribute, we should both have a part of our names in hers."

"Like Kate Amari? Or something like that?"

"I suspect something a bit further than the real us. Maybe Kay Vanna? Remember when you told me to remember Vanna to recall your name?"

"Ah, but it doesn't sound like a real American. Kay Vann?"

"Perfect. Now lets see that machine you fixed."


	8. Chapter 8

Halstead Street Chapter 8

by Simahoyo

The two girls started to look around the neighborhood for their first story as Kay Vann. They interviewed Papa Amari, but he was too embarrassed at the idea of possibly having his story in a newspaper. They talked to the owners of various pushcarts, to little boys who sold newspapers and slept in doorways, to old women who barely spoke English–but nothing sparked their imaginations.

As they went around, they did notice a lot of funerals–mostly of the old and of small children. It was getting hot outside, and Kate noticed how the pumps inside the tenements were not working well. People were very thirsty, and finding water was hard. Women took pails to fire hydrants and opened them for water. Children got milk rather than water, even though it cost a lot, mothers thought it was healthier.

Jane and Ellen took some volunteers around the neighborhood to ask about the increase in deaths. Home after home reported the same thing: fever, chills, cough, red rash on the abdomen, watery diarrhea, a slow heart rate..."Typhoid Fever", said Jane. "We studied it when I was in medical school.. The problem is to discover what has caused it. Latest reports are looking at milk and water. If we can study this, we might find a way to help our neighbors. Ellen, do you know where we might find a microscope?"

Ellen considered, then brightened. "One of our Doctor volunteers might know. Or even lend us one–especially if we can help discover why so many are dying this year. I believe I could just visit the hospital and ask."

By the next day, the story was all over the neighborhood. Giovanna wished Kate lived nearby so they could discuss this as a possible story. But it seemed to Giovanna that Kate's parents would never allow her to live on Halstead Street. They would get a lot more done if Kate was able to live at the Jane Club. It seemed to her that Kate might be able to afford the rent on her salary at the bank. It would be worth talking about later.

The Hull House investigators noticed that milk was often watered to make it go further, before selling it. This was without the needed microscope. As Giovanna kept her eyes open, she saw children swimming in the Chicago River, and relieving themselves on the shore. She had not thought about this before, but surely this was bad to have in water. But were the waters from the river somehow getting into everyone's water?

At long last, it was Sunday. Giovanna let her mind wander during mass. She was outlining arguments as to why Kate needed to move to the neighborhood. Suddenly the homily ended, and she needed to get her mind on communion. When the service was finished, she waved to her family and walked toward Hull House.

Back at the Munk home, Kate and her mother were walking around the garden, known all over the neighborhood as a source of tomatoes and summer squash and dill weed for anyone wanting extra. By the end of the season, it was also known as a source of the same items left wrapped in newspaper and left anonymously on doorsteps. Kate had been contemplating asking her parents about possibly moving to the Halstead street neighborhood near Hull House so she and Giovanna could pursue their interests together more often. As she walked along the rows of lettuce, Kate reached down and plucked out the chickweed, dandelions, and yellow dock, holding them in her apron. "Mother, did you know other people throw these away?"

Her mother gave Kate a quick, faintly shocked look. "I was raised in the country. Everything the good earth gives us, we eat, or plow under to fertilize the ground. I don't understand city people. It's like the carriage trade, they want to buy only the roots of beets and turnips, and waste the greens. You kinder have grown up eating them, and look how strong and healthy you all are."

"And I have an idea. In late summer, when we are trying to give away things, could we give them to some of my friends at Hull House? You ought to see the things they have to buy. It is all bruised, and molded–and the meat. Himmel! I'm amazed they all still alive. And I should show them what we eat that others won't. I think we could help them."

Mother contemplated. "I have control over the garden. I will give you something to take to them whenever there is extra. I will talk to Father also. It is better not to throw anything away. I'm sure he will agree with that. You have seen the May Dance...In my parent's village, the ribbons hanging down represented the connections to heaven for each one of the village. When they danced, they wove them together to show how we all weave ourselves together in a community. Chicago is a very big community, but your friends are part of it with us."

Kate's apron was full, as was Mother's Mother reached down and took the basket full of vegetables they had just harvested and set it on top of her apron while Kate did the same. They went into the kitchen, and set everything out on the table.

Mother looked at Kate, nodded her head, and gave her all the greens they had gathered. "Your brothers are sick of greens, they keep telling me. Get a newspaper, and wrap them up to take to your friends."

By the time Kate arrived at Hull House, she had three newspapers full of greens, and a plan.

She went in and found her friends who lived together in the Jane Club. They were gathered together sewing, actually mending, their work clothes. Kate received a general greeting, and then...

"What is in the newspaper?" asked Regina.

"Mother and I were in her garden, and she sent these to you. You must remember that she grew up in the country, and they eat things city people won't, so please divide the two between you. The other is for the Amari family."

The newspapers were opened like a Christmas gift. Senka looked a question. Gerta smiled. "I too came from the country. I know these greens. They are good." Senka asked, "How do you eat them?"

Kate sat with them, smiling. "They are boiled in water until tender, then a little salt–if you have it."

Bronaslawa frowned. "It is so hot inside, no one will want to cook."

"I have read that in some places people go outside and cook together, so it isn't nearly as hot. Is that something you could do?"

"Let's ask Mary. She might have an idea.", Regina was halfway to the kitchen before the others caught up.

Mary looked up from the cookstove at the girls trooping in. Her eyes lit on the greens and she grinned.

"Oh dear, healthy food? ", she teased.

Regina was off again, "Kate's mother sent it for us. It's greens, and we want to know how we can cook them outside because the heat is too awful."

Mary thought for a minute. " The man next door tore down his tenements for a playground, but it isn't built yet, and it is nothing but bare ground. It you choose a small part of it, and talk to Jane, I'm fairly sure he will let you cook there."

They called out their thank you's and as a group headed off to look for Jane. They found her outside talking to some newsboys. They managed to wait politely until they finished, although Regina was bursting to tell.

"Jane.", she called, " Mary has an idea and we need to ask for permission."

Senka broke in, which as always hard with Regina, "Kate's mother gave us greens to cook, and it is too hot inside. Look, they are lovely." And Senka showed off the part she was holding.

Jane examined them, smiling at the Janes' enthusiasm. "Very nice. If you use the land next door, you must allow anyone who needs to cook the right to use the area, and no one must go near the grass. Be careful of your skirts with open flames, and have some dirt ready to throw on any fire escaping."

The Janes all agreed, and were chattering about their plans when Giovanna walked up. She was engulfed by the group, and all tried to explain their project at once. Giovanna held her hands up, and waved them. "Stop, stop. One person tell, not everyone." Then she started laughing.

Regina, naturally, started. "Kate's mother gave us greens. They need to be cooked, and it is too hot to do inside so..."

"Jane said we could cook them outside here.", interrupted Bronaslawa, pointing.

Kate smiled at the whole uproar, and handed Giovanna her package. "These are for your family."

Giovanna inspected them, "You mean we can eat these? I see them in vacant lots and other places all the time."

"Yes, but you must know which ones to pick. Some will hurt you. Not just to eat, but even to pick. I'll bring you drawings next Sunday...for everyone."

Giovanna forgot herself and hugged Kate. Kate just grinned back.

Kate and Giovanna went off by themselves to talk. They put their heads together in a corner of the puzzle room, and conferred quietly.

"I believe I have found a story for us.", said Giovanna.

Kate's eyebrows went up. "Oh. What have you noticed?"

"You have heard, I think, about so many older people and children dying. Jane and some others have started to study it, and Jane says it is probably Typhoid Fever. They are getting a microsoop thing to prove it."

"Microscope? That's a good idea. And it think this is a very good story idea. I wish I had more time here to work on this. Sometimes, I wish..." Kate shrugged.

Giovanna was nearly bursting with her grand idea. "If you lived near here–in a better place than I do, we could do so much good together. The trouble is, where? And what would your parents say?"

Kate's eyes lit up with a burning. "Yes. I have been thinking the same thing. But where, and how could I afford it on my own? I have seen your building. Father would never let me near here again if he saw it. I know you need to stay there and help your family. I know about the Jane Club, but it isn't fair for me to take the place of another girl who needs a room. "

Giovanna was lost in thought, her brown eyes contemplative as her mind turned inward. "If there was an old woman who had a nicer room and wanted help...maybe you could live with someone like that."

"Giovanna Amari, you are a genius. I will ask everyone to ask around. Maybe this will work for me. I already cook and clean at home, so there would be no change but location."


	9. Chapter 9

Halstead Street Chapter 9

by Simahoyo

Mrs. Fraser was a find. She was seventy years old, lived alone in a tiny house, and was frail enough to need help, but too proud to accept charity. She had lived in the same location most of her life, and the neighborhood had changed around her. Best of all, she owned her house, and so did not have to pay rent. After talking with her, Kate decided it would be unfair to eat Mrs. Fraser's food, so she offered to provide her own. Kate was able to live nearly rent free, and her off work hours–within reason, were her own.

Kate also would provide a folding screen to turn her corner of the room private. The house was small enough for one main room and a kitchen, plus, joy of joys, indoor plumbing. Never mind that tenements rose high on either side of the house. Never mind that conversations the neighbors had could be heard clearly–fortunately they spoke Hungarian on one side and Chinese on the other. To Kate this was perfect. The bonus was the Mrs. Fraser was actually very nice.

Kate's biggest problem was telling her father. She sought him out after dinner, when she was usually waiting for her turn to read the Daily Tribune. As if he was looking through the newspaper, Father folded it, and looked at his daughter. "Did you want to speak to me?"

"Yes. I have been working at the bank for nearly a year now, and I wanted to become more responsible."

"Good. So, good. What is your plan?" He leaned forward, his blue eyes taking in everything.

"I would like to move closer to Hull House, where my friends live, and pay my own way in life."

Her father struggled. He was trying not to wince, and almost succeeded. "That is not the safest neighborhood. Your mother and I would worry. I will not tell you no, but I need information."

"I found a very nice lady, she's seventy years old, and she needs some help with her cooking, and cleaning. She has a sweet little house, all by itself. And indoor plumbing. It is very close to Hull House, and the streetcar stop. I would only be paying $3 a month for rent, and buying my own food. I think that is a great price–don't you Father?"

Father shook his head. "How do I know you are being entirely honest with me? You have a habit of telling me what you want me to hear."

Kate hung her head, then looked right at him. "Jane–um, Miss Addams, taught be that I must be honest, especially when people believe I am representing Hull House. What I have told you is the truth."

"Let me speak with your mother, and we will see. Meanwhile, I would like to read about the Columbian Expedition. It seems so exciting."

Kate sat and thought a bit. What her parents valued were hard work, independence, education and of course the Lutheran Church. But there was also the old German romantic notion of knights in shining armor rescuing fair maidens from dragons. She waited until Father looked over the paper at her.

"Yes?"

"With all the good work Hull House does, I would like to tell that story. You notice it is never mentioned in the newspapers. I think it would do a lot of good to show what is going on to lift people from poverty. In addition to my bank job, of course."

He frowned, but his eyes were shining. "Ah ha. A quest for truth. That would be something. Instead of slaying the dragon, you would help to slay poverty." He was almost humming with energy. Kate had him just where she wanted him.

"Do you think Mother would approve?"

Father looked at the newspaper longingly. "I will persuade her."

When it was time to leave the house and begin her grand adventure, Kate's family gathered in the parlor. Both Franz Georg and Hans were fidgeting, holding newspaper wrapped somethings for their sister. Father and Mother each had something wrapped much more neatly. Gifts to warm her new home.

Hans was kicking his heels on the horsehair sofa, and about to be reprimanded, so Kate rescued him. "Hans. What do you have there?"

Hans grinning from ear to ear while Kate hoped it wasn't, dead, alive or slimy. He handed it to Kate. Kate carefully opened it to find a slingshot–and rather well made at that. "Why Hans, thank you."

"It's to protect you in case of bad guys."

"I'll never be afraid with this."

Franz George raised on eyebrow. Kate could see him thinking. It was almost like clockwork, the way his eyes seemed to show his thoughts. "Katerina Margareta, here's my gift." As she opened it, she wondered at the small, flat package. The newspaper parted to reveal a mousetrap. Kate was astonished at such a gift. What?

"It's just in case you have a mouse in your house. They like cheese or nut paste, here, then you pull up the spring, like this (and he demonstrated) and be really careful, because it can snap on your fingers and it really hurts. Then you use this lever to hold it down and carefully set it where you saw the mouse."

"Thank you, Franz George. This is quite an interesting gift." Now Mother set a package in her hands. It was too large for just one hand to hold. Kate took the paper off carefully, and inside was a very odd looking small clock, with a big bell over the top and a striker. There were winding keys in back. Kate felt her brows furrow. "What is this?"

Mother laughed. "I though you might have a hard time waking on your own. This is an alarm clock. You can set the time you want to wake up, and it rings. There are instructions underneath."

Kate looked under the clock, and there were a set of instructions with illustrations. "Thank you Mother. I was worried about that. It wouldn't do to be late to my job." And she smiled her thanks.

Father's gift was long, and had a funny knob on one end. Kate wondered what that might be. She carefully removed the paper to reveal a set of pen handles, tips and pencils, an eraser and a bottle of ink, plus a small notebook, covered in leather and sewn carefully–revealing it's quality.

"Oh Father, these are so nice."

"I want you to do a good job on your quest." And his eyes were shining again.

After hugs all around, Kate gathered her things and Father and the boys helped load a truck from Munk's Grocery with everything she was taking with her. She noticed a crate of food in the back too, filled with tinned goods and cabbages, beets, and onions. There was also a burlap bag filled with beet and turnip greens. She wouldn't starve. Neither would her friends. Hubert, Father's truck driver, was ready to go, while Father came up to Kate and reminded her. "Don't buy meat there. Come to the store, and I will give you a good price." With a final wave, they drove away, down to the 19th Ward, and Kate's new home.


	10. Chapter 10

Halstead Street Chapter 10

by Simahoyo

Senka felt so bad. She spent every waking hour helping her sister care for her sick baby son, Nikola. He was not doing well at all, and when she had taken the time to describe his symptoms to Jane, the news made her cry. It was Typhoid fever. People were _dying _from Typhoid fever. The whole 19th Ward was a scene of hopeless families and funerals. Jane offered to visit the family and see if she could help in any way.

The room was on the third floor in the rear, inside with no windows. The heat hit them like a fist. Baby Nikola was in a dresser drawer, under a ragged but clean cloth. He was too quiet, but still breathing and a tiny wail came from his mouth. Jasna, her sister, hovered over her baby looking haggard, her dark hair limp and hanging over her blue eyes. Dark circles showed the many sleepless hours she had spent worrying about her tiny son. Dimitar, her husband, was not yet home from work. Jasna looked up at Senka as she led Jane into the room.

"Jasna, this is Jane Addams, from Hull house. She agreed to look at Nikola to see if she could do anything to help."

Jasna tried to smile, but wasn't quite able to. "Thank you for coming." She moved out of the way as Jane opened her carpet bag and reached inside. She took out a clean rag, and opened a corked bottle of water. She wetted the rag and started to bathe Nikola's hot little head and body. He started to move toward the rag, making soft little sounds. Jane examined his abdomen, seeing the rash. "Does he have diarrhea? " Jasna nodded.

"I don't know if it is too late, but boil all water and milk, except your own before you give it to him. I know it is very, very hot in here, but I believe Senka will help you by doing it outside. We have a place. Do you have a pan to boil things in?"

"Yes, " said Senka. "It's big, even, and I am strong enough to carry it. I remember the place you showed us."

"You saw how I rubbed him with the cool cloth. Use only boiled water that has cooled. This will keep his fever down. Never give him water you have not boiled first, then cool it down so it will not hurt him. And do you and your husband drink coffee or tea?"

"Yes, we do."

"Keep doing that. Don't drink water unless it has been boiled first. And tell your neighbors too."

Both sisters agreed, and thanked Jane profusely.

Word spread through their tenement, then swirled down the street and followed word of mouth all over the area around Hull House. The number of funerals started to drop. Giovanna met with Kate and they wrote their story after interviewing neighbors, Jane and her investigators and looking through the wondrous microscope at the bar shaped germs. Giovanna typed it and Kate got it delivered to the Daily Tribune. Now both young women waited nervously to see if their story would make print. Kate had done some research and thought they might get as much as $8 to share between the two of them–equal to a week's work for each. And she also knew they would be paid in cash. Kate had set up a message service through Mary, the cook at Hull House, because she was open to supporting the girl's schemes, and was there more hours than anyone else. Between work, helping at home, and looking for more story ideas, she and Giovanna took turns checking with Mary for any message for Kay Vann.

Mrs. Fraser was getting used to German cooking, and was pleased with the better meat and vegetables now on her table. She even pronounced that sauerkraut was, "Quite lovely.". She didn't even balk at the greens others thought of as weeds. She had more good things to eat than before, and Kate had discovered a city park with black raspberries growing there. And dill weeds growing in an empty lot. These were treats neither had been able to afford. Kate had discovered that opening every door and window made cooking inside bearable, plus cut the smell of certain items like cabbage. She even made noodles, draping them over the chairs to dry.

At the Amari home, Mama was the sole glove maker, as all the children went off to various factories to work, along with Papa. Money was tight, but nothing like before. And after the Haymarket riot, some of the factory owners paid a little more and required an hour of two less of work. Things were looking up, but not all over the neighborhood. There were still factories with frightening conditions, where small children worked. Giovanna and her family often discussed the situation. There was a little girl downstairs who had lost two fingers working on a weaving machine. Her neighbor had taken her to Hull House, and Jane had done her best to sew up to wounds and stop the bleeding. Giovanna had heard rumors of some union men who were fighting to control the hiring of such small children around dangerous machines. Most of the people at Hull House wanted an end to the little ones working where they could be maimed or die.

Later that night, there was a knock at their door, and when Papa opened it, Kate was standing there, grinning, and holding an envelope. They invited her in, and she wiggled the envelope.

"Is there a Kay Vann living here?" Giovanna's heart raced. "Yes. Did we...are we...?

"Published. Yes. And paid. They cut it some, but we each get three dollars!" Kate pulled three dollars out of the envelope and handed to Giovanna, who danced a small tarantella.

"This is wonderful. Extra money. Here, Mama, put it in the household fund. " Giovanna handed the money to her mother, who hid it in a hole behind the picture of Jesus and the Sacred Heart.

"This is so exciting. When will it be published?"

"Sunday. I'll buy a newspaper, and bring it so you can all see it. I also have an idea for another story. Child labor."

Giovanna's voice rose with excitement. "We were just talking about it. Come, you must meet our neighbor, Natalia. She lives downstairs. " Giovanna opened the door, and Kate waved goodbye to the Amari family as they left. Following Giovanna, Kate went down the wooden stairs, stepping over the rotten place out of habit. They went into the dark hall, following the turn, and Giovanna knocked on a door. It opened timidly, and a small woman a few years older than Kate peered out.

"Hello Delfina. Is Natalia awake? This is my good friend Kate. She and I have been trying to tell the stories of the people who live here. Is that all right?" Giovanna's voice was gentle, and kind.

Delfina slowly opened the door to let them in. The room was tiny. A little table was perched next to the wall, with two broken chairs, neatly repaired with rope. And two pallets were on the wooden floor. One was occupied by a little girl. She was awake, looking at them with big, brown eyes. Her light brown hair was mussed as if she had been sleeping. She was dressed in clean ragged clothing, and she had one hand curved over the other.

Giovanna smiled at the girl. "Hello Natalia. How are you today?" Giovanna knelt on the floor at eye level with the child. Natalia looked down, shyly, then back up at Giovanna.

"I'm okay. Mama just came home from work. Did you want to talk about my hand?"

"I don't want you to feel bad. What was bad was how that machine hurt you."

Natalia nodded her head. "A mean and bad machine."

"Hi Natalia, My name is Kate" She sat on the floor, her hand held out toward the child.

" What did you used to do with that machine?"

Natalia used her hands to show what her job was, and Kate felt tears in her eyes at the missing fingers on Natalia's right hand. She blinked, and tuned in on the child's story.

"I had to put my fingers in the machine and untangle the threads. They go fast, and if I didn't move my fingers away quick enough, they would cut them. That time, I was too slow, and it cut off my fingers. They yelled at me, and sent me home. Mrs. Gilberti saw, and put a rag on it and took me to Hull House. And Jane fixed it. And I only cried a little bit."

Kate was trying hard not to cry herself. She talked past the lump in her throat. "Were there other little girls who got hurt like that when you worked there?"

"Yes. Alicia and Bonnie and Mavis–Mavis is old though, she is eight."

As Kate talked to Natalia, Giovanna quietly spoke to Delfina in Italian. It turned out that Delfina was a widow, and couldn't make enough money for them to live on without the child working. Delfina was sickened by the accident that took her child's fingers and yet knew there was nothing she could do about it. The whole situation was fairly common. They now didn't really have enough to eat, and Natalia often went to bed hungry–but less often than Delfina, who believed that her child should have any food if they wasn't enough for two. Remembering the days of two meals of stale bread dipped in sauce, Giovanna determined to find some way to help.

After they left, the two young women sat on the steps, talking, and to be honest, crying.

"It's not just a story. I have more than I need. If we publish this one, I want to give my half to them.", said Kate. Giovanna nodded. "Yes. I must give most of mine to Mama, but some will go to them. And I will start a rumor. I know there will be little packages left at their door. We have good neighbors."

"We need to get similar stories. Tomorrow is Sunday. We can ask around Hull House. We got a lot of information that way last time. And as long as Mother and Father don't find out, I can go to church, and leave early."

"Well, I won't do that with mass. I'll meet you tomorrow."

Kate walked home alone, but armed with Hans' gift, the sling shot, in her hands, and a pocket full of marbles. Somehow the local drunks and toughs seemed to know she was not to be trifled with.

She arrived at home untouched, let herself in and barred the door. Mrs. Fraser glanced up at her and smiled, then went back to sleep. Kate went behind her screen and went to bed after setting her noisy alarm clock. The closest Lutheran church was within walking distance, but she had breakfast to make. And notes to take . She settled down in her bed and went to sleep.

Kate knew she was dreaming, but she couldn't wake up. A huge, clattering machine was in front of her, with thread moving a mile a minute. Suddenly they tangled and she knew she would lose her job if she didn't reach inside and untangle them. Her heart pounded with fear. She froze. She was terrified of losing her fingers. A big, angry man stood over her, yelling at her. She reached for the tangle. She could barely breathe. She yanked at the threads and moved her hand back fast. Her hand got away with only a little burn. Kate struggled to wake up when her alarm clock helped her.

She was never so happy to hear the noisy thing.


	11. Chapter 11

Halstead Street Chapter 11

by Simahoyo

Kate shook the nightmare out of her head, picked up her Sunday dress and went into the bathroom. She used the water closet, pulling the chain and washing her hands. She filled the tub, and stepped in shivering at the cold water and splashing it over her. A quick use of the brown lye soap removed anything unclean, and she rinsed it away. Stepping out, she toweled off, and lifted the tub, pouring it down the drain. It was a good thing she was young and strong. Dressing quickly, Kate tamped tooth powder onto her toothbrush, and brushed. She cleaned up the room for Mrs. Fraser, then went back into her space, and brushed her hair, buttoned up her shoes, and went into the kitchen corner.

Kate rather liked Sunday. She had the whole day off, Mrs. Fraser attended the Methodist church, and all Kate had to do was prepare breakfast. Her landlady preferred poached eggs, wheat bread with butter and jam, and fried potatoes. Kate crumpled up some news paper, put it under the lid on the stove top, and lit a match to the paper. She reached for some kindling, and added it to the paper. As it caught fire, Kate added thicker kindling and a few heavier pieces of wood. She filled the pan with water, salting it carefully, and putting it on the stove lid.

While it heated, Kate pared a couple of potatoes, and grated them. By now the water was ready, and Kate cracked two eggs and gently added them to the simmering water with a spoon. She watched them carefully, then when they were exactly right, slipped one on each plate. She took the water off, poured the hot water out, and put a cast iron pan on in its place. As it heated, she added a bit of lard, squeezed the juice out of the potatoes and added them to the pan, frying them until they were light brown and smelling wonderful. These were added to each plate, salted, and Kate sliced bread for each of them, buttering it and adding jam from the jam jar.

Kate put the plates on the table, heated more water, and put tea into the tea ball. Mrs. Fraser walked slowly to the table, smiling. "Oh, this looks so good. I do love a nice Sunday breakfast."

Kate pulled her chair out, and helped Mrs. Fraser be seated. Kate went back to the stove, poured hot water into the teapot, and brought it to the table. Then she went back to stir the wood apart and put out the fire. They all remembered the Chicago Fire.

At last they were able to eat. Mrs. Fraser said grace, and they started their meal. The eggs had come from her mother's laying hens, and tasted better than what was sold in nearby stores.

"How was your day, yesterday? I'm sorry I wasn't here. I had a special project to do."

"Oh, it was fine. Mrs. Wilson came over to knit with me. We talked about all sorts of things. She has a boarding house, and four handsome young men staying with her. You should meet them."

Kate chuckled. Her landlady was no different from her parents, trying to introduce her to available men. "I will be out most of the day. My friend and I have a secret, and when I tell you please remember _not_ to spread the word."

Mrs. Fraser solemnly crossed her heart.

"We just had a story published in the Chicago Sunday Tribune. It isn't under either of our names, but I'll buy one and you can read it if you like."

"That is amazing. Kate, is that your friend Giovanna working with you? What's the story about? "

"Giovanna and I wrote it. It's about the deaths we had over the summer, the typhoid fever? We talked to so many families, and some people at Hull House researched where the disease came from. Now that it's getting cooler, and people are boiling their water..."

Just then there was a knock at the door. Kate and Mrs. Fraser looked at each other–puzzled. Kate went to the door and opened it, to find Franz Georg standing there with newspapers under his arm and a big grin on his face.

"Franz Georg? What are you doing here?"

"Father sent newspapers. He bought a whole pile of them and is giving them out to all the neighbors. Are you going to let me in?"

Kate stepped back, allowing her brother inside the tiny house. They walked over to Mrs. Fraser.

"Mrs. Fraser, this is my brother, Franz Georg. Franz Georg, Mrs. Fraser."

"My, aren't you a strong young man. I'm happy to meet you. You do look like your sister, you know."

Franz George wiggled uncomfortably. Their parents were spare with praise and compliments

"How did Father find out about the story? I never told anyone at home what name we were using."

Franz Georg laughed. "You know you can't have any secrets with Hans around. He read your notebook. I caught him and yelled at him."

Kate rolled her eyes. "Typical of Hans. If we ever go to war again, he'll make a perfect spy."

Kate handed one newspaper to Mrs. Fraser, then took the other and opened it, eagerly turning pages. She paged through twice before finding the story. "Typhoid Fever Endangers Columbian Exposition." Kate wondered why the headline was so far off from what they wrote. As she read through the story, she found the things they had emphasized were cut down, and the cautions about boiling water buried in the last paragraph. Kate felt deflated.

"It's not the way we wrote it. Darn it."

"Kate, I think it's very good. People know how sad the people were to lose their children and older people. It explains why this is important to everyone in Chicago, and tells about the work Hull House did to find a way to stop the disease. It even tells people to boil their water. I liked it."

"See, Kate, it's good. It tells the story, and Father is so proud of you. You know I would tell you if I didn't like it. So, are you going to Hull House? I'll go with you."

"After I clean up from breakfast. It won't take long." Kate heated more water, filled the sink and added soap jell from the jar by the sink. She had the dishes done, dried and put away in ten minutes.

Kate and her brother walked the few blocks up to Hull House. Franz George stared at everything around him. "Do those little kids have anyplace to play? The streets are really full of garbage. Look, Chinese letters on the signs. And are those Hebrew? Do any Germans live down here? What language is that? "

"I can't answer if you don't stop long enough for me to talk. Yes, the signs are in Chinese, Hebrew, and over there is Russian. Yes, there are Germans here, most of them speak Prussian or Swiss dialect–like when Mother and Father are trying to keep secrets from us. Don't tell Mother and Father we skipped church."

To get even with his sister, Franz Georg stopped speaking to her.

Inside Hull House, they found the usual group in the game room. And oh what a change in Franz Georg. He went from silent and surly to smiling and genial the second he saw the young women gathered together. Kate inwardly groaned. These were her friends, and her brother was younger than any of them. She hope he didn't embarrass her too much.

Regina was talking to poor, quiet Gerta, who was trying to read. Kate assumed the book was in Swedish. Senka was playing Old Maid with Bronislawa. They looked up and smiled as Kate and Franz Georg came in.

"Hello, Kate. Who is this?", asked Regina. Gerta looked relieved.

"This is my brother, Franz Georg."

"Is he the one who made you the sling shot?" Senka was smiling at Franz Georg.

"No that was Hans. He's kind of our family _Yellow Kid_. Franz Georg gave me a mouse trap."

"Good gift." commented Gerta.

"Thank you. So, what are your names?"

Kate felt her face warm with a blush. "Yes well, Regina is on the left, with Gerta who liked your gift. Senka asked about the sling shot and Bronislawa hasn't had a chance to talk yet."

"He'll never get my whole name. Call me Bronia. That's what my family calls me."

"You never told me that. All this time I've had to say the whole long name. Lord save us from such long names."

"Regina, you have a long name. And if you ever heard my whole name, you would have a reason to complain. That's why I call myself Kate."

Franz Georg followed the words flying around the room, held up one hand, and said, "Do you want to find out about the news story Kate and Giovanna had published." Her brother knew how to quiet a room.

"Yes."

"...so exciting."

"Oh my..."

"Kate, yes...

"I'll read it to everyone at once."

"Shouldn't you wait for Giovanna?" Kate was feeling slightly distressed.

"I can read it again. She can read it. I like to read."

_Typhoid Fever Endangers Columbian Exposition_

_by Kay Vann_

_Hundreds have died or become extremely ill with Typhoid Fever over this summer in the Nineteenth _Ward. _This hot summer has caused the people to experience a massive water shortage, leading to them using water from fire hydrants and the Chicago River for daily use._ _Suddenly, people sickened, and died–mostly older people and babies._ _Several families lost both grandparents and small children._

_Funerals were being held daily at the local catholic and orthodox churches, as well as at the synagogue. One priest commented that he had lost half the babies in his congregation._ _Then he took out his handkerchief to wipe tears from his eyes._

_Typhoid symptoms include headache, fever, a rash on the belly and diarrhea. Miss Jane Addams, of Hull House, had studied medicine for three years. She recognized the symptoms, and knew where to look for the source of the problem._

_Women from Hull House searched the neighborhood, testing water and milk. They used a microscope borrowed from a doctor to look for the rod-shaped bacteria. It was discovered in both water and milk, so neighbors were told to boil water and milk before drinking them._ _As word spread, the number of Typhoid cases dropped. It is recommended that everyone boil water and milk before drinking until the water can be treated for safety._


	12. Chapter 12

Halstead Street Chapter 12

by Simahoyo

Supper at Mrs. Wilson's boarding house was not a quiet affair. With four young, male borders, even coming to the table was noisy. Work boots clumped. Deep voices complained. Spoons clattered against pans. Chairs scraped. The smell of cabbage and onions with ham hocks perfumed the air. Boiled potatoes were there to fill hungry bellies. The kitchen table was scared with years of use. Chipped, mismatched plates were ready for dinner, as well as a fork and a knife at each place, along with mismatched coffee mugs.

The men ranged from short, with compact muscles, dark red hair and blue eyes, to olive skinned, brown eyed and dark haired. Those were Emil Olsen and Hugh Martin. The other men were the lanky Italian, brown eyed, with an intense took to him–Pasquale Rizzoli and the quiet, thin and wiry Josh Hill.

Emil was a fisherman–traditional with his Norwegian ancestors. Lake Michigan provided him with a decent enough living. And when a catch was large enough, some of his pay was in, "trash fish"–a favorite addition to the communal table. Hugh was the son of an alderman, who spent his life trying to make his own way. So far he had held three different jobs, and was now trying to get a job without his father's interference. Rizzoli was paid as an ironworker and unpaid as a union organizer. He spent a lot of time in jail or getting shot at. He had a perpetual cynical look to him. Josh was working at a meat packing plant. He looked small, but could lift twice what his bigger co-workers could.

Bertha Wilson stood over the four burner woodstove, knitted potholders in her hands. She expertly grasped the handles of the potato pot and a third pot holder. She dropped the spare on the table, and set the pot on top. The big wooden spoon was grabbed by the nearest boarder, and the potatoes were slung onto the plates. She returned with the pot of cabbage and ham hocks, which the men fell upon like starving wolves.

Bertha grinned at them. Her "boys" now that her own had grown and left.. She ran this boarding how partly for the money–taxes were higher than her widow's pension, and partly for the company. Not for her the endless card games and knitting circles of some of her friends. She had things to do, and her mind worked just fine, thank you very much, Reverend Smallett. The Lady's Auxiliary was only part of her week. She knit with Hilda Fraser once a week and spent the rest of her time making sure her boarders were well fed, had clean clothes and their socks darned. She scoffed at the idea of taking it easy. That was for the idle rich. And shame on them.

She also had her own supper in the warming oven. The men liked only very hearty food, and Bertha preferred lighter fare that wouldn't have kept her boys full for an hour. She listened to them share the news of the day.

"So Dad found my new place to work, went in and threw his weight around, threatening my boss until he fired me. I'm so sick of him. I don't want any part of politics or the party. I'm my own man...or I will be when I can sneak a job where he can't find me. I don't want to leave Chicago–it's my hometown, after all..."

"Hugh, try changing your name. A lot of Union guys do it when they get blacklisted. No one ever looks for identity. You could be Harry O' something or other."

"That's not a bad idea, Pasquale. Not Harry though. It sounds fake. Maybe Brian O'Malley."

"Or Brian Quinn."

"God, no. It sounds too much like Dad's first name."

"Don't ask me. All I know is Norwegian names...and you couldn't spell them."

"How about Clarke?"

Hugh paused to think. "Good one Josh. I like it. Brian Clarke it is. Just don't say my real name when I get my new job."

They laughed and polished off every bit of their dinner. Bertha considered what Hilda would think of these hard-working young fellows. Which one might work out with Hilda's helper, Kate.

Bertha had not actually met her, but had several descriptions. She was a good-looking girl, with a High School education and a hard worker. Josh was out, as he often talked about a young woman who already had won his heart, and was working to earn enough money to go back to Wisconsin and buy a farm, marry her, and get a good start in life.

Emil was alright, but his education was minimal, and he usually smelled of fish. That left Pasquale or Hugh. Both were fine young men, and if Hugh could get out from under his father's thumb, he would be an excellent husband. The same with Pasquale...and he didn't have the overbearing father. There was time. She would make sure they met soon. And meanwhile she would push things along with...

She picked up the newspaper, folded to the page with the article by, Kay Vann. Hilda had told her, in the strictest of confidence, that the reporter was none other than Kate and her friend, Giovanna. She waved it under their noses.

"Did you see this article about the Typhoid Fever? It says I was right to boil the water all summer. None of you got sick either."

Hugh took the bait, spreading the newspaper on the table as Bertha removed the dishes and pots.

"How about that. Mrs. Wilson was right. It came from bad water. Who is this Kay Vann fellow? He did a good job.?"

"It's a secret."

Pasquale knew her too well. She needed him to pry it out of her. "Oh, do you know who it is?"

He felt Emil's elbow in his ribs as Josh hid a grin.

"It's not a man.", said Bertha, waiting.

"Oh. Is it a woman? I know sometimes women write something for the paper, but isn't it usually recipes and such?"

"It's actually two women. They live in the neighborhood. But don't tell anyone. It's a big secret."

"Anyone we know?" asked Hugh.

"Not yet."

"Ah, someone you know."

"Someone Hilda knows."

The men all looked at each other, feeling the trap close on them. Ooops. She had some woman she wanted them to meet.

Josh spoke quietly enough to escape Bertha's sharp ears. "Good thing I'm engaged to Nancy. I'm safe. She probably is ugly as a mud fence."

"Some bluestocking reporter. No thanks. Probably wants to vote."

"Hey, one of them might be okay. My Dad would hate her. She sounds like a reformer, like that Jane Addams. I mention her name and he breaks out swearing. Could be worth it."

Bertha was watching, seeing who was absolutely opposed, and who might be reeled in. Hugh. Good. She made a mental note, chased them out of her kitchen and started to clean up. All in a night's work.

Giovanna was helping Mama with a new order of gloves. They talked about the situation with little Natalia and her mother. The rumor did help, as neighbors who could barely keep themselves fed dropped off packages at Delphina's door with food and other needed items. No one was more generous than the poor. Papa and Francesco were at the Son's of Italy to play cards and talk. Tomaso was too weary from work, so he was asleep.

"Mama, what are your plans for the, "banco d' Mama?", asked Giovanna.

"It's for emergencies. If, God forbid, one of us needs a doctor, we can pay, maybe. Or maybe someday a wedding for my good daughter.."

Giovanna blushed. "Mama, I don't even know any man who has looked at me in that way."

"What? I see them at Mass when they are supposed to be listening to the homily. Instead they look at you. You are a beautiful girl. Any man would be lucky to have you. And you can read and write–even in English. You work hard. The other girls look lazy along side of you. What about Paolo Ricci? "

"He chases the little boys from their sleeping places just to be mean. I don't like that."

"Those little newsboys? They are so small. He should not do that.."

"No. I will never be with a mean man. I need one with a good heart–like Papa. He may shout, but his heart is so soft for us.."

"Ah yes, a man like your Papa, who feels for others, works hard, and has no fears of some of those street thugs. This is what I would like for you."

"Meanwhile, I will work, and earn the money for the banco d' Mama."

Jane and Ellen were walking down the street, looking at the garbage strewn not just along the side, but through the middle of the street. Halstead Street was so choked with trash that wagons avoided the street when possible. The street car was beginning to find it hard going too. And the street car was their neighbor's main way to come to Hull House unless they lived close enough to walk.

"Don't they pick up garbage here?", asked Ellen.

"We pay taxes for garbage pickup. I wonder why no one does it." Jane was giving the street that piercing look Ellen knew so well.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that we should get a big group of neighbors to visit the city. Most of them work, but some are working at home, sewing or doing laundry. Some have lost jobs and not found new ones. If we can bring a big enough group, we could embarrassed them into correcting the problem."

"Jane, you know as well as I do that women don't vote, so why should they listen to us?"

"Think of a pesky fly, buzzing around your head. How long until you cannot stand it, and try to swat it?"

"Me. Usually about ten minutes. You know I'm not especially patient."

"And we will become the fly. They only can make us leave by doing what we want."

"Or get swatted."

"Oh, but wouldn't the Herald want to know all about such treatment of a room full of ladies?"

"Especially since we know reporters who would be happy to write about it."

"I like the way you think, Jane."

The pair walked on, passing Pasquale, who was going to a meeting in a tenement basement room with some friends interested in the Knights of Labor. He had to be careful. People still acted like the Haymarket Riot was some kind of evil plot to overthrow the government. He got to the place, walked around the little newsboys bedded down in the sand under the overhang , and tapped on the basement door.

The door opened a crack. "Yeah. Who is it?" asked a gruff voice.

"Albert Parsons." said Pasquale.

The door opened. Pasquale held tight to the brass knuckles in his pocket, making sure it was safe before relaxing his guard. He glanced around 2 men he knew pretty well, and one looked like a scared kid.

"Hi Paolo, Marko. Who's he?"

Paolo tilted his head at the kid. "He works at the carpet factory. The one with the little kids working."

"Yeah, that place needs a union alright. Little kids need to stay away from machines that hurt them. What's your name?"

"Henry Fisher. I seen little kids fingers get cut off in them machines. I hate that place."

"Hey, kid, it's not about revenge. It's about getting workers their rights. Like a 10 hour day, and all of Sunday off...and keeping little kids off dangerous machines." said Marko.

The kid's eyes got big. "Ten hours a day? I'd feel like I was goofing off or something. And a whole Sunday off. That's something. But I'm in this for the kids. I seen it happen a couple of times. Lucky the kids didn't bleed to death."

"Yeah, well, if you join the Knights of Labor, you gotta keep it quiet. The bosses don't like it."


	13. Chapter 13

Halstead Street Chapter 13

by Simahoyo

Joseph Allen Murray watched his boss's son walk past. The kid was oblivious. Joe tossed his cigarette butt on the ground, stayed to the shadows and wondered why The Mighty Finn Martin insisted on having his kid followed everywhere. Big Joe didn't ask. It was money. It moved him up in the party machine. Fine with him.

They had gone about six blocks, when the kid went into Rooney's Saloon. It was one of those Irish places where men went less for a beer or a whiskey, and more to plan to get the Bloody Brits out of the Auld Sod. His boss would approve. He waited just long enough to make it look like he wasn't following, then stepped in. The kid was talking to the owner–Rooney. Their heads were together like they were planning something. Rooney was short and bald, with tiny green eyes, and big ears. Probably good in a bartender, all the listening the had to do. Joe wasn't able to listen in over the three drunks singing revolution songs–off key, and wandering back and forth from English to Irish lyrics. Joe wished he could shut them up. The old politics didn't matter. It was what happened here, in Chicago–in the Democratic Party, that counted.

He went up to the bar, to order a beer, and find out what the conversation was.

"Hey Rooney, gimme a beer, will ya?"

Rooney handed him a bottle of Schoenhofen, then turned back to his boss's kid.

"So you support the rebels?"

"I sure do. The Brits have to go. They've been they too long. It's time they went home and took their soldiers and such with them." And young Hugh clenched a fist.

Aw, they were just talking politics. Joe finished his beer and walked out. He went on home since he had been seen anyway.

Hugh was close to dancing on his way home. He, well, Brian Clarke–had a job. And he could keep any tips. Rooney was impressed with his attitude about the Irish rebels, but he had learned his people's history along with his ABCs. These politics made sense to them. They were not about money and power, but about people's rights. As far as Hugh could see, there were people right here in Chicago who could use some help. But he knew better than to say so in front of his father.

Hugh went on home, able to tell Mrs. Wilson not to worry about his ability to pay. As he walked on, he noticed some young toughs hanging out smoking cigarettes, and being pretty useless. He wondered what they were living on. Everyone he knew had a job and worked long and hard. Including him now. He smiled and moved on.

Two middle-aged women walked by, looking at the street, and pointing out the garbage everywhere. He felt his face warm. More of his father's political work. If the people couldn't pay the bribes, their garbage accumulated. Hugh was stuck loving but not respecting his father.

He continued on down to his boarding house, went inside, greeted Mrs. Wilson, and gave her the good news.

"I knew you could do it. You're good with people, listening to everyone. You even suffer fools from time to time, and that's not one of my talents. Here's hoping your father doesn't find out about this job."

"Agreed."

Hugh went up to read some of the stuff Pasquale had given him about the Knights of Labor. He liked things that made him think.

Pasquale finished his meeting, and each man left, one at a time, going different directions. It was a matter of safety. There were guys working for the bosses everywhere, and the had a high old time wailing on any worker who dared think they had rights. After Haymarket, some bosses did the right thing, and the fourteen hour day was no longer the standard except in the sweatshops where families worked themselves half to death making clothes for rich people. But a twelve hour day was too much for women and little kids. They needed to work fewer hours, and at less dangerous jobs.

Pasquale heard a sound behind him. He ducked into an alley and waited. It was just an older guy and his son. They were speaking Italian. Probably were at the Son's of Italy card game. Pasquale knew better than to come out of the alley suddenly, and scare them. He waited until they walked by. He wondered if he could talk Mrs. Wilson out of an apple or something. He was getting a little hungry. She made great meals, but being scared made him hungry for some reason. Pasquale continued on home.

Kate was sneaking up to Delphina's door, a newspaper wrapped package in her hand. Mother had offered carrots, onions and cabbage from her garden and a plucked and gutted chicken for the little family. Kate placed it on the doorstep, knocked, and ran away fast. As she was beginning to slow down, she noticed a man with dark hair, and a kind, intelligent face walk past. She tried to breathe normally, and continued on her way. He was gentleman enough to cross to the other side of the street to reassure Kate that he was no danger to her. Little did he know that she still carried Han's slingshot with her after dark.

So it was that on a single night plans were made, people met each other, kindnesses shared and community organizing had it's beginning.

Finn Martin was drinking coffee, and eating a steak with potatoes. Lot's of butter too. It felt good to be able to eat this after what his grandparents had suffered in the famine. He'd heard all about the trip to Manhattan, including the people packed in like sardines...and some so ignorant that they started cooking fires in the wooden ship. He buttered some bread and then put on some honey. A man should enjoy life. Things had gotten a lot better since the famine days. No signs in the windows advertizing jobs, with, "No Irish Need Apply" tagged on. No more fat Germans running everything, keeping his people down. The Irish had fought and scrapped for everything they had. His Dad had joined the Democratic Party because they would pay him to get people to vote, as many times as possible, in any election where they could advance. Soon he, Finn Martin, would walk to his office, at City Hall, sit behind his desk like a high king, and grant favors to those he wanted to. And ignore those he didn't feel like helping. Life was good.

Except for his foolish son, that was. Finn had made a place for him, in the party machine. He would come in, be someone's assistant, work his way up (with help from his Dad), and run for Alderman. He'd win too. That was easy to arrange. Then as Finn worked his way on up to mayor, Hugh would follow in his old man's footsteps. But what was wrong with that boyo?

He made noises about making his own way. That was for the people with no pull. Let them work themselves to death like the folks back in Ireland had. He had cleared the way for his boy not to have to work a day in his life. And what did the kid do? He got a job in a bakery, working from before dawn to after dark. He wore flour on his clothes, and in his hair. Finn had put a stop to that. It was personally embarrassing. He had gone to the baker, and bribed him to fire Hugh.

And was that enough to put a stop to this nonsense? No! The Hugh got a job in a warehouse right on the Lake shore. He brought in fish, piling it in boxes. The boy reeked of fish. So Finn put a stop to that one. Now he was having his son watched, There would be no more embarrassing jobs that caused talk at City Hall and in the party. And enough of that. Finn was working on buying himself a judge. It would be his first one. He was looking forward to the deal.

The bonus was that Judge Schuford was one of those snooty Germans that thought they were better than the Irish. As he walked along to City Hall, the more to be seen than for any other reason, he enjoyed the fit of his suit, vest, and tie with the Herkimer diamond stick pin. His spats were white over his black shoes, and he swung his cane was he walked. He mentally strategised his plans for Judge Schuford. He had someone do a little research on the good judge. He was expecting the results in his office.

Finn settled at his desk. Big, and all walnut, with gilt trim. He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and waiting for his underlings to report in. Only men worked for him, because they would be hoping to move up in the party machine. Gilbert was a skinny lad with an Adam's apple that looked like he had swallowed a walnut–hull and all. He hustled in, with his cheap suit, and hair just a bit too long.

"Mr. Martin, here's that report you wanted.", and he held the folder out to Finn. Finn grabbed it, nodded his thanks and started reading. He heard Gilbert leave. So, the report was disappointing in some ways. The judge didn't have any glaring problems, arrests, alcohol or frequenting brothels.

His eye ran down the facts, and stopped. Oh ho. Judge Schuford attended St. Mary's Church. A Roman Catholic church. Finn was a devoutish Catholic, was excepted to be since he was Irish. But Germans, most of them anyway, were Lutherans. It was like being an Irish Protestant.

That was one chink in the armor. He scanned some more. Then stopped. The judge, everyone thought, had lost his wife years ago, in childbirth when they had lived in Rockford. But there were records of his wife still alive and living in Love's Park. The judge had re-married, and there was no record of a divorce from wife number one. Barbara Hobmeyer. The name would go far in controlling the judge. Nice. He wrote a note on city stationary, and sealed it. He called Gilbert in, and ordered the note to be delivered to Judge Schuford. It was a good day so far.

Jane and Ellen had discussed the garbage situation most of the night. Sleeping was forgotten as the two women planned a campaign against the City of Chicago for their neighbors. They had a to do list that wasn't particularly long, but so much depended on getting the neighbors into one place on the same day, during work hours. They stayed up listing those who were living on widow's pensions, those who were doing piecework at home, and their volunteers.

They loved sharing ideas. One would think of an idea, and that would lead to more thought, until they were both too excited to sit still. After much discussion, they planned to arrive at City Hall when the whole group of Aldermen were to be meeting with the mayor. Now the real work began.

They put up notes in the classrooms where English was taught, not just in English, but Italian, German, Russian, Greek and Yiddish. The notes explained the problem of the garbage and that they were paying to have it removed, but the city did nothing about it. The note explained that a group of neighbors planned to speak to the city about cleaning up their streets. By that night, the news had spread through much of the Nineteenth Ward.

Mama Amari waited for the family to get home. It was time for them to talk about this. Mama had made up her mind. They had a table now, an old door they could put up on saw horses, and stools someone had been throwing out that Franceso and Tomaso and rescued, while Papa had fixed them up. It was looking like a real family place. She had made pasta with broccoli and a little grated cheese. They were eating meals she was proud of now. As they sat, and said grace, Mama filled their bowls, and gave them all some watered wine. As they ate, Mama started to speak.

"Family. I suppose you have heard about the problem with the garbage in the streets. I was told that we pay to have it taken away, but the city does nothing."

"The city always does nothing. It's those Irish with the city. What do they care about us Italians, and Jews and Greeks and so forth? What can anyone do?"

"Jane Addams has an idea. She said that alone, we can do nothing. But if many of us go to the city, all at once, they will have to listen to us. And if we do it often enough, they will have to do something..."

"To save their sanity." said Francesco. Giovanna glared at him.

"I have decided to help with this. We are going next week, in the day...and I am asking Giovanna, will you help with the gloves so I can do this for all of us?"

"Yes, Mama. Of course I will. If I didn't not have to work, I would go myself."

"Who are going? Do you know, Mama?" Tomaso was mainly interested in the neighborhood gossip.

"Mrs. Galati, Mrs. Cosmos, Mrs. Alfidi, Dominick's mother, Mrs. Chu, and I think Mrs. Stravos.

"That's a lot. I hope they make life miserable for those crooked one's in the city." And Papa looked proud of Mama.


	14. Halstead Street Chapter 14

Halstead Street Chapter 14

by Simahoyo

Giovanna and Kate decided they needed to sneak into the factory where little Natalia had lost her fingers. They knew to be very careful. They could not pass themselves off as workers–too old. And they could not pretend to be rich women wanting to tour the place. They didn't have the proper clothing. They finally decided on good old fashioned underhandedness. Kate was good at such things. Since she didn't attend Mass–or even church, she went by the factory to look for places to sneak in and watch.

It was set up with a front entrance and on the side one with a platform for wagons to load. This was either very busy, or completely unwatched. Kate slipped up the steps and peered into the door. It was left open, and the noise of the machines would cover any noise from people coming in. So, Kate went in as if she was supposed to be there. Lines of machines sent yarn flying in straight lines, ending up in one that wove them together with almost no help from human hands. Women and children stood at the machines, fingers flying and in one case treadling to work the giant machine. Kate found a corner where she could watch unobserved. She stayed until a large, angry looking man started down the rows yelling at the workers. Kate managed to escape before he saw her.

She reported back to Giovanna and the two planned to return and see conditions for themselves the next Sunday. Kate got an earful about the plans to confront the city about the garbage. She mentioned it to Mrs. Fraser, who immediately passed it on the Mrs. Wilson. From there, the local

Methodist Ladies Auxiliary became aware of the plan. That was how things happened in the Nineteen Ward. Instead of telegraph, they had tell a neighbor. Jane and Ellen had found the right day, planned how to get everyone to City Hall, and an unsuspecting City council was faced with fifty women, angry and demanding to speak to the Mayor and the Aldermen.

The women stormed into the room, filling it. Jane Addams spoke with their concerns, then woman after woman added her comments. The men were left with their mouths hanging open. They looked at each other. This was not supposed to happen. The poor did not get garbage pickup.

A woman wearing the wig that marked her as an orthodox Jew started in. "We pay taxes for garbage pickup. So what's with not picking up the garbage? Even the street car is having trouble going in that street. It makes it hard for people to get to work. We took off work to be here, and we need clean streets." The women were getting louder. The Mayor glared at Finn Martin. He'd better come up with an excuse to get these women out of here. Finn tapped his fingers on his chair arm. Then he sat up straight.

"Ladies. We appreciate your sentiments, but you have no idea what you are asking. The city needs to make contracts and appoint a garbage inspector, to make sure who we hire does a good job. That person will have to follow the route and be sure everything is picked up once a week. No matter how smelly or disgusting that trash might be. There is no pay. Would any of you take on that job? How about (and he paused meaningfully), your leader, Miss Addams?"

Finn sat back, confident that the meddlesome Miss Addams would never take on such a dirt and unladylike task.

"Excellent. When do I start?"

Finn was banging his books and whatever else he could reach. He was not in a good mood. Those damn women and the even more –he needed a new swear word for her. Well, SHE was too much.

Maybe she'd quite after the first day. Not from all he had heard. Finn was trying to calm himself by filling requests for county records with five dollar bills placed so they could be seem by just anyone opening the request. Be everyone knew that reports didn't get done without some help from Abraham Lincoln.

Big Joe wander into his office. No knock. That shanty Irish thug. No manners at all.

"What?"

Joe slouched in the doorway. "Want to know where your kid has been?"

"It's what I hire you for."

"Down to Rooney's Saloon. Taking up politics, I guess."

"Are you sure he's not trying to work there?

"They were talking politics–the Irish kind."

"Go back and find out if he's working there, you fool."

Joe stood, giving Finn the stink eye. Then he left. All in all, it was not Finn's favorite day.

Back at Hull House, Jane, Mary and Ellen held a celebratory tea. "I cannot believe that Alderman made you a garbage inspector. Does he have any idea what he had let himself in for?" Mary was laughing still after hearing their adventure. She had taken over at Hull House during their adventure.

Ellen was smiling into her teacup. He never saw Jane when we first move into this house. You never saw such cleaning, and repairing. It was like the opposite of a tornado. The tornado destroys as it roars along–Jane cleans."

"I have work clothes. I'm no stranger to dirt, and our neighbors deserve better than what we have outside. It might even be fun."

Joe was pissed off. Yeah, Finn paid him alright, but he didn't sign up to be a baby sitter. He stomped his way down the street, kicking and some of the ever-present trash. Why the hell couldn't somebody dump this someplace else. He watched the street vendors, selling for carts, trash cans with a board on top, or a dirty blanket on the ground. How could anybody eat that stuff? Bread with dirt in it, and God only knew how old, and He wasn't telling. Skinned meat, covered with flies that looked suspiciously like rats turn his stomach. He went past the street kids shoving people and picking their pockets. It was a normal day in the Nineteenth Ward..

We went around some kids playing leapfrog in the dirt and heaps of garbage. Why weren't they working? He passed the shops with the windows that needed washing, and the Chinese Laundry. At least something was clean around here. He got to the door of Rooney's Saloon, went in, and walked right up to Rooney. The place wasn't all that full, just the full time Irish rebel types who had escaped Ireland one step ahead of the Brits. Rooney was washing glasses.

"Finn Martin sent me.", said Joe confident the name would do what it always did.

"And?", said Rooney, still washing his glass.

"Did you hire his kid, Hugh Martin?"

"No. Never heard of the lad, and if I did, I wouldn't tell the likes of you."

Joe stood straighter, invading the man's space. Rooney didn't flinch. He was supposed to flinch.

"He was in here before. I saw him."

"Lots come in here. You see him now?"

Joe looked around. "No."

"Need a beer?"

Joe hesitated. He could almost taste it. Finn would smell it on him. "No."

"Goodbye then."

And defeated, Joe walked out. He had to go back to his boss, who was all mad because of the invasion by all those women. Well good on them. Finn Martin needed a bunch of biddies to take his mind off his son. Maybe he should find someone else to help him move up in the party. Babysitting! He'd rather push paper. Maybe he didn't read so great, but he read enough. He was sure of it. Could even work his way through most of the Daily Tribune, if someone was around for the big words.

He glared at the Signs in Yiddish, and Italian, Greek and God only knew what else. People came here not even knowing English, and they got jobs. His folks made sure he got through 4th grade. That was more than most. Why was he working for that pig-headed, self-important Finn Martin? Thus complaining to himself, and God, Joe continued down the street.

Later that evening, Kate was riding the street car home from the bank when the wheels got stuck in the mounds of trash. The horse complained, stomping and snorting. The men all got out and moved trash around until the wheel was released, and dirty and red-faced, then re-boarded while the horses continued down their route. There was a good story. She already had heard about the plan Jane had to confront the City Council about the trash problem. Now the situation would include people who were citizens, spoke good English with no accent, and were listened to more attentively, unfortunately than her neighbors.

Kate was mentally writing the incident down as she walked home. She prepared supper with her mind elsewhere, but snapped to attention when Mrs. Fraser started to share the news of their siege of City Hall.

"There must have been fifty of us women, all told. Ladies from churches, and women who work at home and widows and such, all standing with Jane Addams and Ellen Starr. And we stood our ground and told them what we wanted, and being as be all pay taxes for clean up the garbage, they should do it–or we will keep coming back until they do".

"Well they sat there gaping like so many fish. And they made those soothing noises, like men do when they know we're right, but want their way anyway. So this one fella was dressed like he owned half the county, and he suggested they make Jane the garbage inspector. Made a big deal over how dirty and hard it was..."

"They don't know her, do they?" Kate was holding back a giggle as a picture formed in her mind.

"They certainly don't. My Land, she jumped at it. I feel downright successful. I won't hold my breath they hurry themselves any, but we may have just accomplished something."

"I'm proud of you. And, to add to the strength of your argument, the streetcar got suck in the garbage on the street tonight. There were a lot of men that had to get out and move the trash so we could move again. I suspect they could be some letters to the editor of the Tribune written tonight. And when I talk to Giovanna, whose mother was there today, by the way, I'm hoping another article might give City Hall a little push in the right direction."

They settled down to finishing their noodles with fish balls, thanks to one of Mrs. Wilson's boarders. They also had a fine salad with lettuce and onions with sweetened vinegar. Mother's garden was growing wildly, as if to prepare for the winter ahead. After supper, and doing up the dishes, Kate walked down to Giovanna's.

She smiled because she could hear the family laughing and talking inside. She knocked and the door opened, It was Francesco, who opened the door wide and motioned her in.

"Kate!" Mama had to be loud to be heard over the others. "Come in, Come in. Do you want something to eat?"

"I had a big supper, although I know your cooking is wonderful. I came to ask about your visit to City hall."

"Oh, it was wonderful. All these women who left their work to say we need the street to be clean.

So many talked to them–Even I said something."

"Good for you!"

"And the men were so well-dressed, with the clean fingernails like they never worked. The suits, oh, such materials, with vests and ties. One man even had spats. "

"Enough with the clothes, Mama, What else happened?", Papa jumped in.

"Jane told us we had a right to speak because it's our neighborhood. And we told the men we paid for the garbage to be taken away. And what were they doing with the money we paid, because we see the garbage, more every day."

"Brava, Mama!" said Giovanna.

"Oh, but you should have heard Mrs. Chu. She is so smart. She looked at all the taxes they paid for their laundry, and added together the part for garbage take away, and told them if they don't take it, they need to pay her and her husband back $53. That's so much money."

"Oh it is. Such a smart lady.", said Tomaso.

Kate was bursting to consult with the other half of Kay Vann, and fortunately, Giovanna could read her expressions. Mama finished with the story of garbage inspector Jane, then shocked them all with her next comment.

"I want to take the citizenship class at Hull House. I know that if I understood this government, I could speak better to these men who run the government."

Papa's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Francesco stared, his eye round. Tomaso grinned and Giovanna hugged her.

"I will sew the gloves when you are at class. I'm happy for you. You will be the first American in our family."

Papa opened his mouth, then closed it. He swallowed. "Yes. You should do this. And when you finish, I will also take the class. We will be real Americans. together."

The entire family, including Kate, swept themselves up into a hug. When they parted, Giovanna and Kate went outside to talk.

"I think we have a story that fell into our laps. This garbage story is a good one. It is bringing people together. I don't want to forget the other one. We owe it to Natalia and Delphina. But this is too good to ignore. I do want to go back to the factory Sunday with you. If you know anyone, we can talk to them later-away from the factory."

"Do you want me to talk to Mrs. Chu? She knows me."

"Yes. I think that will be wonderful. Mrs. Fraser and her friend Mrs. Wilson went too. And we can ask Jan and Ellen about their part. Oh, and my streetcar got stuck in the trash on the way home. I can add that."

"They we will work on the trash story, and then see the factory on Sunday."

"Yes. And if your mother has anything to add, write it down."

They teased each other a bit and parted for the night. Kate walking home with Han's slingshot still in her pocket. Giovanna went inside to help her mother finish her gloves.


	15. Chapter 15

Halstead Street Chapter 15

by Simahoyo

The story about the women's siege of City Hall was snapped up in record time. The story spread all over the city, as Jane dug in, literally, to inspect the garbage. She often berated the workers for refusing to take more than a token amount away with them, and gradually, streetcars could move freely down Halstead and the neighboring streets of the Nineteenth Ward.

This did nothing for Finn's mood. Yes, he owned Judge Shuford, but men were laughing at him behind his back. And whoever that Kay Vann fellow was, he wanted him out of commission. He shouted for Joe, who was walking in with an air of defiance. He'd look for a replacement for this toady soon.

"Joe. Have you found out where Hugh is working yet?"

"No Sir, and it ain't for lack of trying. I checked all up and down the lakefront, eateries, pool halls, saloons...nothing so far."

Finn pounded his desk with his fist. "Dang it! It's like he's suddenly turned into a ghost. He wouldn't...Check the churches. Sometimes they hire a man to clean and that. And Joe, find out whatever you can about that reporter fellow, Kay Vann. I would like to discuss some things with him."

Joe knew what that meant. He checked his pocket for his brass knuckles. He knew the reporter worked for the Tribune. He'd had to pick up the pieces from the floor after Finn got done with it.

"Don't just stand there, get going!" shouted Finn, turning a very ugly shade of red. Maybe if Joe stuck around long enough the man would drop dead of apoplexy. Joe sauntered out of the office, headed for the newsroom at the Chicago Daily News. He had to grab a street car. It wasn't walking distance. It didn't take long.

Joe hopped off, and sprinted into the building. He nosed around until he heard typewriters clacking and followed the sound. The newsroom was crowded, and men were running all over the room. And older fellow was yelling at a young kid who ran from the room. The man turned around and glared at Finn.

"What?"

"I'm looking for Kay Vann."

"Who?"

"One of your reporters. Wrote about garbage removal in the Nineteen Ward."

"Oh. Yeah. He's a stringer. Turns in the stories by mail. Get's paid in cash. Good writer, plus the guy can type. Half these baboons can't. Makes meeting deadlines a mess. "

"Who knows who he is?"

"Try accounting.", and the guy pointed to a door.

Joe went to the door and opened it. Guys that looked like copies of Gilbert were writing in books.

One looked up.

"Anyone know who Kay Vann is?"

The Gilbert copies looked at each other and shrugged.

"He's a stringer. He wrote about the garbage."

"Oh yes." The fellow nearest him grabbed a book and paged through it. "He gets paid in cash, care of Hull House. You know where that is?"

Joe nodded, not liked what he heard. No wonder this reporter knew what that Jane Addams was up to. He was one of those settlement people. That explained a lot. Finn would pitch a fit for sure. How in the world was he going to figure out which one he was in that place with half of Chicago coming and going? He thought about quitting again. Between chasing down a part-time reporter too scared to show his face like a man, and babysitting his bosses kid...he had better stuff to do.

Joe also didn't want to face Finn with no news. He started to canvass churches. He saw the insides of half the Catholic churches in Chicago, a couple of Orthodox churches, some Methodist, and even accidently went into a Jewish church, only they called it something else. They sure dressed funny. His feet were starting to hurt.

Joe thought, "What the hell." and went back to Rooney's Saloon, and who should he spy behind the bar but Hugh Martin. The damn kid had changed his name. He heard men calling him Brian. Joe hustled out to report to Finn. He knew he might even get extra for delivering this news.

Finn was reading some files or other junk, when Joe walked into his office. Finn glared at him.

"You been gone long enough, you lazy Mick."

Joe shrugged. He wasn't from the south of Ireland , so the name didn't bother him.

"I found Hugh. He's working at Rooney's."

"I told you he was there!" Finn was getting red again.

"He is using a different name. Brian Clarke."

"Sneaky. I like that. I'll go have a little talk with my son."

Joe turned to leave, relieved that his other task hadn't been brought up.

"Joe. Did you find that reporter?"

"I tracked him down all the way to Hull House. I lost him there."

"Tracked him?"

"He mails in his stories, and gets paid in cash, care of Hull House."

"Get back there and find him. He has a lesson to learn, and it ain't about spelling."

Finn dressed to go out, cane and all. He took a cab to Rooney's, while people stared at him, open-mouthed. It was a long way from the way his grandfolks had lived, just like these losers. Now he was a man of importance. He went into the saloon, walked up to the bar, and ordered a beer.

At the familiar voice, Hugh almost dropped the beer he had been holding. "What are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here? I told you, no more piddily jobs for pennies. You have a career ahead of you. Get out of here now." Finn felt his face get hot. Hotter under the collar.

"No, Dad. I'm a grown man now. Let me be. I'm not hurting anyone."

"You are hurting my status in this city."

"Good Lord, you sound like the Brits ordering me around."

Finn lost all grip he had on his temper. "What did you say?! How dare you compare me to the _Sassenach. _Have I killed anyone? Beaten you up and broke your bones?"

"You take my jobs away for I can't afford my rent or food. That should sound familiar. Isn't that one of the reasons great-grandpa left Ireland?"

Finn felt like he had been stabbed. No it, wasn't that way at all. He could explain, but not while his blood was up like this. Instead, he turned and walked out. The argument was something they could continue another time.

Finn got back in his cab and rode back to City Hall. Round two would happen another day. He hoped he would have the luck of John L. Sullivan. Dumb kid.

Editor Tom Elam decided there was something he didn't like about the guy who came in asking about Kay Vann. The reporter could write, and had an in with Hull House and the Nineteenth Ward neighborhood. And his gut told him there was more to the secrecy about Vann's identity than met the eye. There were things that reporter noticed that most men wouldn't. And whoever it was had the confidence of the women, as well as the tenement dwellers. He had deliberately kept his eyes and mouth shut because he suspected that Kay Vann was a woman. And one with a good education. There were probably reasons that Vann's identity was a secret. Maybe a mean husband, a job she might lose if her boss knew what she was writing, or God knew what.

He thought maybe someone had objected to the last article, and there was a whiff of hired muscle about the guy. He scratched out a note on a scrap of paper, and folded it, addressing it to Hull House, care of Mary Keser. The note explained that someone suspicious was asking about Kay Vann, and to be careful. He sent a copyboy to Hull House to hand deliver it. Tom was willing to protect his newest and best reporter.

Kate had started a new project, tying cut fruit into flat bags of cheesecloth bags, and hanging them in the sun until they dried. The fruit came partly from roadsides where fruit grew wild and partly her mother's garden. Most was sealed into jars for use starting in December, when every good German woman was seized with a compulsion to bake endless streams of cookies, kuchen, torte, streusel, faschings, and stollen. Many of them required dried fruit toppings of fillings. Kate had already put of jars and jars of jams and fruit. It was good that windows could be opened in order to bring in a breeze. Kate's tenement friends didn't have such a luxury. Hot weather cooking a was torture for them. Fortunately, the last hot days ended in October and by Halloween, the snow was likely to start. It would soon be time to find a cheap source of firewood. Maybe outside factories that made things of wood. Or a quick raid of what little trash remained on the streets. Kate knew there was often wood left washed up on the sides of the Chicago river.

Since moving here, Kate had learned how to find things. Cheap was good, but free was best. She had gotten good at seeing the possible uses of things she might have walked past without a second thought–or even a first one. She had routes she walked to look for things. Knew where mushrooms grew that could be safely eaten. Broniaslawa had shown her. She was an expert on mushrooms.. She often warned friends away from the ones that would hurt them, while handing them the ones that were good to eat.

Kate reflected on her friends, and how much she had learned from them. They had changed her life. It seemed that they had all changed each other. Every young woman was a teacher as well as a student. Kate knew more about so many countries and their cultures, various jobs people did, where to find free entertainment and where some very good looking young men walked past on their way home from work. This move to Halstead street had been a very good idea.


	16. Chapter 16

Halstead Street Chapter 16

by Simahoyo

Chicago was welcoming autumn. The leaves were yellow and red and orange. Like lit torches, some of them. The sky was bright blue. The air was cooler, and cooking inside was not like a visit to Hell. The plants were covered in fruit and vegetables. Tomatoes and summer squash were left on doorsteps, left by Franz George, and sometimes Hans joining him when the parcels were especially heavy. The two Munk brothers knew where all of Kate's friends and those in great need, like Delfina, lived. When finished, they hopped a streetcar and rode home, laughing. They were really enjoying their adventures.

Hugh was working the same job–a minor miracle, to his mind. Pasquale was continuing meeting, planning a general strike for a 10 hour day, and an end to child labor. Their boarding house seemed to be prospering, at least for now. Joseph had one eye on that farm in Wisconsin. And Emil was saving for the ever looming rainy day. Mrs. Wilson still hadn't given up on fixing up one of those two young men with the girl who lived with Hilda Fraser.

Jane Addams could be found checking trash bins, chasing trash collectors around, telling them what to pick up, and generally enjoying herself as garbage inspector. Finn Martin, on the other hand, was most assuredly not enjoying Jane's work. He had to listen to the ribbing of the other aldermen about what a great idea he had putting Jane Addams in charge of the garbage. About the time the hidden sidewalk was suddenly uncovered, the laughter was open. And now the other aldermen were complaining about the lack of funds for keeping the police in line. Finn's temper was less and less under control. He had to figure out a way to get rid of the woman–not permanently, just out of any position of power. Plus, Hugh was acting like he was able to live his own life, without the guidance of his old man. This would never do. Finn checked his pocket watch. It was nearing time for his son to go to Rooney's and that meant that Finn would be continuing their discussion.

Giovanna slipped out of the church just as mass ended, planning to meet Kate just outside the factory. It wasn't a very long walk. The church was closer to the factory than their tenement was.

Giovanna pulled her shawl closer. The weather was cooling, and there was a breeze. She thought about Natalia and Delphina. It was time for people to know their story. She hurried along the now clean street, past the people selling whatever they could to make money for their family. She had heard from the old settlers how there had been the Indians first, then the French, the English and the Americans. After them, the Germans, the Irish, and Italians–now people from almost everywhere. Each starting poor and then working so hard, moving to other places, while the next group of poor took their place. Giovanna liked her friends and neighbors from everywhere. She wanted all of them to be able to feed their family.

She turned the corner, saw Kate just at the end of the alley, and joined her.

"I'm here. How do we get inside?" Giovanna's voice was a near whisper.

Kate took her hand, and pulled her along, looking around them nervously. Giovanna stepped carefully, not wanting to slow them down or make noise. They came to the concrete steps, and walked up them carefully. The door was open, and they slipped inside. Waiting until Kate moved into the factory, Giovanna followed. The noise was terrible, so many things banging together. The people were standing at every machine, putting their hands inside. Giovanna studied the faces she could see. She recognized a woman she often saw shopping in the street. There was a boy, Angelo, stepping on a huge treadle, who slept under their stairs with some other boys. And a mulatto girl she knew lived in the tenement next door. She was looking further down when a big man came close enough to see her. She turned to run, pulling Kate with her.

"Get back here, you two!" the man growled. He was running after them so fast, that Giovanna's heart beat faster than ever before. She and Kate tore down the stairs, down the alley and down the street, dodging the people as they tried to outrun the big man.

Kate pointed to a space between two tenements, and Giovanna followed, nearly bumping into a man with dark hair and eyes. She nodded an apology, and followed Kate. They hid behind an ashcan, as the dark haired man stared as the big man from the factory ran into him. The factory man reached down and grabbed Giovanna by the arm, screaming at her and shaking her. Giovanna fought back, scratching his face and kicking. She saw Kate pull her sling shot out of her pocket, and let fly with some stones. The big man jumped, swatting as if stung by bees. Giovanna ran past the factory man. The black haired one motioned for Giovanna to follow. She could hear Kate behind them, as they followed the man through one of the twisty hidden passages through a tenement, then another. They ran into a basement filled with sleepy drunks, then down an alley, and into the Chinese Laundry. Mr. Chu looked up in surprise, but Mrs. Chu held open a curtain, and they followed her past the laundry and up some stairs to their little two room apartment.

"Sit. I see what happen downstair."

The three of them sat. Kate turned to their savior, after she caught her breath. "Thank you for saving us."

"You are most welcome. Why was he chasing you two?"

Giovanna though for a second before speaking. "He saw us somewhere he didn't want us to be. So, he chased us away."

"Oh, I'm Hugh Martin, by the way."

"Kate Munk, and my friend Giovanna Amari."

Hugh looked suspicious. "There's more to this than you told me, isn't there?"

Kate gave a warning glance to Giovanna. Kate always told Giovanna she was too honest.

"We were looking in on some workers. We had heard some not so nice things about that factory."

"Oh. You're with a union."

Giovanna said, "What?" just as Kate said, "Yes." Ooops. That wouldn't do.

"Hmmmm. What did you say you were doing there?"

"It's our business. Thank you for helping us. We really appreciate it, but..." began Kate.

They heard Mrs. Chu returning up the steps.

"Nobody looking for you. You two make somebody mad again? Like Jane Addams?"

"Great", thought Giovanna. "We don't even know this man. Don't talk anymore, please, Mrs. Chu."

Kate stepped in, conversationally. "We did. We have been working. You understand. To help the neighborhood." Giovanna could almost hear Kate wink at Mrs. Chu.

Hugh looked at each of them like he was following a ball game. He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. Kate smiled at him.

"Oh, so you are with Hull House. Now I get it."

That was close enough to the truth that all the women relaxed. "Yes. And the man objects to some of the things we do.", said Kate.

"Oh. I like how clean the streets are now."

"You can thank not only Jane and Ellen, but Mrs. Chu here. She told City Hall how much tax they paid to take away the garbage over how many years?" Kate looked at Mrs. Chu for an answer.

"10 Year. Fifty three dollar. I told them, you don't take it away, you pay us back."

Hugh laughed as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. "I'll bet they hated that."

"They not happy. One man, dress all snappy, he groan and moan. His face turn all red."

"I know that one. Thank you for making my day so happy."

Giovanna realized they were keeping their neighbors from work. "Mrs. Chu, thank you for your help, and please thank Mr. Chu for us too. We need to go now."

The three young people stood and followed Mrs. Chu outside. Then Kate and Giovanna said their goodbyes to Hugh. He started back to Rooney's whistling as he went.

By the time Hugh arrived at Rooney's his good mood was winding down. His father was standing in front of Rooney's and his face was red, but he was grinning. That meant he had won an argument. Hugh's heart dropped. When his father looked that pleased, it was seldom good news for the son.

"Dad. Waiting for me?"

"Yes. I had a little discussion with Rooney. You know that the City allows the saloons to operate with a liquor license. And what the city gives, the city can take away. So, it was a small matter of either keeping his newest bartender, or his liquor license."

"Dad, that was down right mean. Rooney never did anything to you."

"He hired you." Finn spun his cane, watching it move in his fingers. "And he knew he oughtn't have done that. You ready to work for the Party now?"

"I need to think about it." Then Hugh turned on his heel and walked away. Finn was red again. What was wrong with that Boyo?

Pasquale was writing in one of those school tablets with lines, so his handwriting was better to look at. He started with pencil, because this was a letter to a very important person. He was nervous, because he wanted this person to help him with his grand plan. He scratched out what he wrote and tried again.

"Dear Mother,

The Knights of Labor have been having a heck of a time since Haymarket. We need to fight for a ten hour day and to stop the bosses from making little kids work where they can loose their fingers. We are going to have a general strike next month and please come and help us. We need you and your way of getting people off their butts and working .

Pasquale Rizzoli. Chicago Ironworkers and Knights of Labor.

Pasquale copied it in ink, blotted it, and put it in an envelope. He added a penny stamp and addressed the envelope to Mother Jones Care of United Mine Workers. Then he put it whole thing in his pocket so it wouldn't fall into the wrong hands. Who knew what sneaks might get into Mrs. Wilson's house if no one was home. Pasquale trusted those who lived there, but he knew what happened to careless union men.


	17. Chapter 17

Halstead Street Chapter 17

by Simahoyo

Joe looked at Finn, who signaled him to follow Hugh. More babysitting. Joe mentally cussed at Finn. But he followed.

Hugh was walking away from his father. His shoulders were squared, and he walked with fake pride. He really felt as if his tail was between his legs. Poor Rooney. This was taking things way too far. Hugh needed to find a job his father couldn't interfere in. He didn't want to move, he liked his boarding house a lot. Plus he was learning a lot about unions, something called co-ops that people formed in Norway, and how Indians did things together in Wisconsin. Chicago was not the center of the world.

Hugh was entering the front door, when he sighted Mrs. Wilson. More bad news for her. Hugh hated this so much. He decided to get it over with.

"Mrs. Wison. I have to tell you, I lost another job."

"You poor soul. Your father needs to find something else to do with his time. I'm sure you'll find something. You always have."

Hugh didn't say what he was thinking. That it would always be this way. He'd find a job, and his father would take it away.

"Before you get too settled, I have a little favor to ask you. Would you please take this sack of walnuts over to Mrs. Fraser's house. It's right down Polk Street. The little one between the two tenements." And she handed him the sack.

Hugh took off on his errand, thinking that someone would be hammering nut shells for quite a while. No nutcracker he had ever seen would conquer these nuts. He walked down to Polk Street, turned and walked up to the house. It was tiny, dwarfed by the two tenements surrounding it. Hugh figured Mrs. Fraser was an old settler. The neighborhood must have grown up around her.

He walked up the flagstone path, and knocked on the door. The door was opened by Kate–one of the two he had met running from the factory thug. He suspected his look of surprise matched the one on her face.

"Uh, hullo. Mrs. Wilson sent me over with some walnuts for Mrs. Fraser."

Kate grinned. "Come on in–Hugh. Mrs. Fraser isn't here right now. Imagine the coincidence."

Hugh followed her inside. The place was tiny, but clean and well-kept. He handed the bag to Kate. She took it over to the little closet which served as a pantry, and put it inside.

"Thank you. And please thank Mrs. Wilson. Are you the one who lives with her, helping out?"

"Yes. She's very nice, and it makes my rent really low. How is your bartending job?"

Hugh felt his face flush. "I uh, don't work there anymore."

Kate's eyes registered concern. "Why? You seem like a hard worker."

Hugh didn't think he wanted to keep secrets from this woman. There was something about her.

"My father wants me to work for him. Every job I get, I gets me fired."

Kate's face showed anger. "That's so unfair. Let me think a minute. Have you considered working for someone your father can't convince?"

"I haven't found anyone yet."

"Have you ever worked with groceries? Produce, meat..."

"Fish? Yes, I have. I packed fish right off the boat in a warehouse."

"Can you work for someone who, how can I put this nicely, will not change the way they do anything?"

"I put up with my Dad all my life."

"My father runs a grocery." She went to a space behind a folding wall, and came back with a pencil and paper. "This is my father's work address. Please tell him I sent you. I warn you he will work you hard–if he hires you at all. Just tell him I owe you for playing the part of Siegfried for me."

Hugh thanked her, thinking he certainly wanted to see her again. He went back to the boarding house where Mrs. Wilson immediately started to question him.

"So, did you deliver the walnuts? Who was there?"

Hugh was beginning to feel suspicious. "Yes. Kate, the young woman who lives there with Mrs. Fraser."

"Ah. How did you get on together? Did you like her?"

"Fine. She's very nice. Why do you ask?"

"Hilda and I just thought you might want to get to know her. That's all. "

"Uh, well, I'd already met her. She and her friend, Giovanna. They are quite the characters."

"I heard they are a caution. Them and their newspaper reporting." Ooops. I wasn't supposed to say anything. Oh dear."

"I suspected anyway. They were running away from this big factory supervisor, and I helped them. I suspect that's why Kate offered to have me ask her father for a job."

"Oh, that is good. I haven't met him, but I have meet his sons. They seem like a very good family.

A bit formal, but that's Germans for you."

Hugh's stomach gave a little twinge. His father hated Germans. This could get interesting. Maybe his father's prejudice would keep him away. Maybe he could keep this job. But he was getting ahead of himself. First he had to get the job.

"I'll know after I talk to him. Cross your fingers for me."

It was cold in the Idaho Mountains. The tiny cabins the mine worker's and their families lived in

were uninsulated. You could see your own breath inside, when you talked. A knock at the door and it was opened by one of the miner's kids. The mail delivery man was standing in the snow in front of his dog sled. There was an envelope in one mittened hand..

"Is Mother Jones here?" he asked.

An elderly lady bundled in layers of warm clothing stood up. She was so tiny, it was hard to tell that she was standing. Her silver hair, wrinkled face and glasses made her look like anyone's grandmother. "I am here."

"Mail for you, Ma'am."

Mother Jones took the letter. The mail deliveryman closed the cabin door, and they all gathered around to read her letter.

It was another plea for her help. This one from Chicago. One Pasquale Rizzoli wanted her to help with a general strike. If she left the next day, she would just make it. She was well aware of the problems the unions had in Chicago since the Haymarket Riot.

"Well boys, another of our Union brothers needs my help. I hope I got people riled up enough here. I'll be going in the morning. "

"Mother, you ain't walking down that mountain. It's treacherous as hell. And you may be stubborn as hell, but it ain't worth you life or your feet gettin' froze or any of that. I'll ride down with you tomorrow, and you can use my pack mule.."

"Thank you, Olin. I sure appreciate it. And if you have a handful of cartridges for my Colt, here, that would help a whole lot. I expect a real warm welcome from some of those Chicago thugs."

The telephone rang. Two longs and a short. Father Munk picked up the receiver, "Hello?"

"Father, It's Katerina Margareta. I'm calling because I sent a young man to talk to you about a job. He's a good man, and he helped me and Giovanna..."

"Giovanna and I."

"Yes. He did help us when we needed him. He was Siegfried for us. His father keeps getting him fired because he only wants him to work in his business. He wouldn't tell you that. But I wanted you to know why."

"Katerina Margareta. I will decide. Is this someone special to you?"

"Not now, but maybe in the future, Father."

"So, I will meet this Siegfried tomorrow?"

"Yes. I would very much like it if you hired him."

"I will decide. You know that. Yes, I will consider your feelings, and yet it all depends on what he says, and what he has done before. Which store did you send him to?"

"The one on Indiana Avenue. It's that alright?"

"Yes. I will speak to him. I will leave a message for you at Hull House if I hire him."

"Father? I love you. Thank you."

He laughed. "You are a good daughter."

After he hung up, Father turned to Mother. "Our daughter has met a young man."

She stopped her embroidery and smiled, her eyes far away.

"I knew that would happen. What do you know about him?"

"She called him her Siegfried. Wants me to hire him."

"Oh that sounds so romantic." She clasped her hands together.

"I will meet him tomorrow. Then, we will know about this Siegfried. I hope he is a good man. Katerina Margareta has a good head on her shoulders. I suspect I may like him..


	18. Chapter 18

Halstead Street, Chapter 18

by Simahoyo

Hugh arrived at Munk's Grocery at seven in the morning. He walked into the building, looking for Mr. Munk. The place was larger than most groceries he had seen. The aisles were filled with not only cans of food, but fresh vegetables appropriate to Fall harvest were displayed along with fruits . Milk, butter and eggs were surrounded by ice. And everything was clean. The meats and fish didn't smell bad, and were also surrounded by ice. There was an orderliness that appealed to Hugh.

Two men and a woman were busy working on inventory, and watching customers for any inkling of need for help. One of the men was old enough to be Kate's father. He was blonde and blue eyed, with a thin frame and an alert look. Hugh walked over to him, "Mr. Munk?"

Mr. Munk smiled. "Yes. You must be my daughter's friend."

"Hugh Martin. She suggested I speak to you about a job."

Mr. Munk hesitated. "Yes, She referred to you as her Siegfried. What did you do for her?"

Hugh felt his face heat up. "She and her friend, Giovanna, were being bothered by a man who was threatening them. I helped them get away."

Mr. Munk laughed. "In pursuit of a story no doubt. I know my daughter."

Hugh was surprised. "I thought that was a secret."

"She has a curious little brother who can't keep anything secret. Hans is quite a character."

"So is his sister, from what I have seen. What sort of work do you need done?"

"I need a strong, intelligent man who can drive a team through crowded streets. One who can work with fish, meat, produce, grains, staples like sugar and coffee, and with people of all sorts of temperaments. And ice. You may notice we use a lot of ice around here. And to keep things clean. That is a must! No one should get sick from our food!"

Hugh smiled. Mr. Munk was getting enthusiastic.

"I agree with you. I remember the funerals from Typhoid Fever. It was terrible. I really like how neat and clean you have everything here. I have driven a team several times. And I worked with the public as a bartender. I also packed fish at a warehouse. I know why you use ice."

Mr. Munk looked down at his hands, and Hugh got nervous.

"My daughter tells me your father objects to you working for anyone but him."

"Yes."

"Is he likely to interfere here?"

Hugh took a deep breath. "Yes. He uses his position to get me fired. You see, sir, he's an alderman. I don't want Kate to know..."

"Kate? Is that what she's calling herself? What is wrong with Katerina Margareta?"

"I suspect it is easier to remember Kate. But Katerina Margareta is a pretty name."

"My wife and I thought so. Ah well, she does as she likes. Your father is an alderman? Is he a member of the Democratic Party?"

"Yes. He wants me to work for the party machine. I don't want to."

"This should be interesting, Hugh. I am a Republican."

Hugh started to laugh. A reformer. And a German. This was his father's worst nightmare.

Mr. Munk joined in the laughter. "I suspect any attempt he makes to change my mind will not turn out as he planned. You are hired. Come out back, and I will show you your job."

It took all of Hugh's will to keep from jumping for joy.

Giovanna was standing over the sleeping boys under the stairs. She picked out the one she knew.

She spoke softly and kindly. She knew this little ones were not treated well either at work or sleeping outside. "Pietro. Pietro. Please wake up."

Pietro rolled over and muttered in Italian. Giovanna tried again. She didn't dare touch him fearing they all would take flight. Pietro finally opened one eye. "What?"

"I'm sorry to wake you. I wanted to talk to you. Do you mind? It is about your work."

Pietro sat up, rubbing his eyes. Finally he nodded and they walked far enough away to not interrupt his sleeping friends.

"I saw you running away at my factory. What were you doing?" He asked.

"We were investigating what is happening to the workers–especially the children. Do you remember Natalia?"

His mouth opened. "Yes. She lost her fingers so they fired her. Is that what you are asking about? Is that for Hull House?"

"It is for the newspaper. Please don't tell anyone, Pietro. We will tell no one who you are, but you must do the same for us. Please"

Pietro nodded solemnly. "I understand. The big man will try to hurt you. I know he will."

Giovanna was as serious as her informant. She asked about the machine he used. About the amount of time he worked. If there were any breaks. What dangers there might be. She wrote nothing. She had a wonderful memory. What was difficult was trying to control any tears from escaping. He worked a twelve hour day, with one break for a lunch if he could afford one. He spoke of how tired they got and how he often had to force himself awake for fear of falling into the machine. Giovanna memorized it all, thanked Pietro and allowed him to go back to sleep.

By the time she got home, she was feeling as if she was walking through mud. These stories were beginning to make her sad beyond the thrill of getting the story. She knew it was important, but she needed something good in her life that would make her laugh again. She was thinking about that as she went back up to her tenement room, and went inside to help her mother sew gloves.

It didn't take long for Mama to see inside her daughter.

"Giovanna. Why are you so sad?"

"It's the stories of the work our neighbors do. The children who work harder than I do, and for less money. And the danger. How would I be hurt with a typewriter? But these little ones work with such big machines. Not just Natalia, but Pietro–you know him, Mama?"

"Yes. I know he sleeps with the other little boys under the stairs. Does he work where Natalia worked?"

"Yes. I have seen those machines. Papa and Tomaso and Francesco are big enough to watch what they do, and to work the long hours. I don't worry too much about them. But that factory? The machines are as big as ...as...a horse. And they run so fast. If one of them fell, the machine would eat them."

Mama dropped her needle. "No! That is terrible. I know they need to work. I know their families need them, but is there no other job they could do?" Mama located her needle, re-threaded it and went back to sewing. She was quiet for a while. "If you tell the story, others will know. Maybe the union people will help. I have been talking to the neighbors. I know the Knights of Labor has some good men who want the work hours for children to be less. You should speak to them."

Mama, you are becoming another Jane Addams. I never knew you understood the politics so well."

Mama blushed. "There is so much to learn from the neighbors. I ask, then I listen."

"You make me proud."

The mountain at Rocky Bar, Idaho was covered with snow and ice. Mother Jones and Olin Carter rode the mules down the road (what there was of it) carefully. They needed to get down to the railhead at Featherville. The wind wasn't bad, and the snow was loose and drier than it could have been. They didn't talk, since both were bundled like snowmen padded with quilts. The breath from humans and mules created their own fog. It was a long trek, and they started early in the morning. Sunrise was late in the mountains–later in autumn. Mother Jones was wearing her traveling clothes. It was necessary that she keep her identity under wraps, literally. She wore men's overalls over her dress, with wool socks and men's work boots. She had a big man's shirt over her dress, and sweaters and shawls over those, all covered by the wools coat, a man's hat pulled over her ears, and a wool scarf wrapped around her neck and head, tying the hat down so the wind couldn't blow that hat off.

Olin, riding beside her, wore wool trousers, socks and shirt, with a wool jacket, mittens, and hat.

He needed no disguise. He was well enough known in the area. When they finally arrived at the rail head, they arranged for Mother Jones to ride in the baggage car. The rail workers knew who she was, and were happy to have her aboard. What they didn't want was the Bulls checking the passenger cars for her. She was despised by the rail owners, and considered by some as the most dangerous woman in America.

Mother thanked everyone, and settled down in the nest of blankets the men had made for her comfort. They would smuggle food to her all along the way to Chicago. This was their contribution to their fellow workers. As the train rocked along the way, Mother Jones thought about going back to Chicago. She thought about her years as a dressmaker to the rich, powerful and foolish. She still had bad feelings about how all workers were treated, as if they were slaves to those who wanted their work. She remembered those rich women who demanded her labor and who tried to keep from paying what they owed. She was often left with completed dresses made of cloth she had bought for them, and tailored to fit them, and then told they changed their minds, and so they paid her nothing. She thought about the great fire, that took everything she owned. And how she found help and friendship with the Knights of Labor. She would never turn down a plea from the Knights for her help.

A general strike. It was a bold move. The Haymarket "riot", was to her mind, a case of the police rioting, and shooting into a crowd of strikers. She expected to be shot at this time too. She was ready. Mary Harris Jones had trained herself not to be afraid. Fear was what the bosses depended on. Fear was what kept her boys stuck working for less than they needed to live on. It was what kept their children barefoot and uneducated. If she set the example, the others would be brave, and the bosses would back down. That was what she lived for.

The rocking of the train finally got her halfway to sleep. Mother Jones knew to sleep when she could. She never knew when or where she might have to make a quick escape, or sit in jail. Now if only they could get some of those congressmen arrested for their theft and taking bribes from the railroad bosses, there would be some justice. She finally shut her eyes and rested.


	19. Chapter 19

Halstead Street, Chapter 19

by Simahoyo

"Joe! Dammit Joe, get yourself in here!" Finn yelled from his desk. People came to him. He never went looking for them unless he had to.

Joe slunk into the office. He looked defiant. Finn was not willing to bear that.

"I hear rumors of a general strike. We can't have another Haymarket Riot on our hands. Get out there and find out about it."

Joe mumbled something and took off. Finn was not having a great month. Jane Addams as garbage inspector had backfired. His son working someplace he hadn't been able to sniff out, and now this general strike. Finn depended on the factory owners and other businessmen for his campaign donations. In exchange, he was perfectly willing to do their bidding, as long as they left him to skim off enough graft to live extremely well. It was a good system–except when do-gooders interfered. Finn decided he needed to do some of his own snooping. Joe was lazy, defiant, and had better prevent another Haymarket while he was in office.

Finn decided to make a telephone call to the police department. He preferred going to the top, usually, but he also knew who would be inclined to agree with his ideas. He connected with Pingree, a police Lieutenant who enjoyed crowd control, and was enthusiastic about rooting out union men.

"Pingree, Martin here. How's it going?"

"Good, good. Are you calling about that General Strike rumor?"

"Smart man. Yep. What have you heard?" Finn leaned back in his chair.

"The Knights of Labor are behind it. Can't find the leaders yet, but the second they get out in public, we'll know. I've been thinking that plain clothes men with guns in the crowd will help. It's hard to yak with bullets whizzing by your head."

"Good, good. Any other thoughts?"

"We got some bicycles. If we start riding around the edges of the crowd, and moving in closer and closer, we can keep them from moving. Easier to assert them."

"That is, well, it's damn smart. You should get all their names, so we can get them to the bosses. A nice blacklist, you know."

"Wow, that could put them out of business. I like the way you think."

"I suspect you want this kept quiet?"

"You suspect right. Just be ready."

Finn smirked. He was always better as this kind of thing than any underling. Now all he had to do was figure out where Hugh was working, and get him fired, and eliminate the post of 19th Ward Garbage Inspector. Things were looking better.

Kate waited on the street where the pushcarts gathered. The woman from the factory hadn't showed yet, but Kate was on the lookout for her. She noticed a woman in Swiss clothing trying to bargain in Swiss-Deutch. It was hard to understand, but Kate noticed others having an even harder time understanding her. Kate wandered over and said, "hello" in Plate-Deutch. The woman stared at her, smiling gratefully.

"You my Swiss understand?"

"A little. I'll try to help."

"Meat from him I will buy.", she said, pointing.

Kate looked at the man, and tried English, just in case, "She wants to buy your meat."

The Man shook his head and answered in Italian. Kate could make out more of it than she thought she knew. The Amari's had been helping her.

Kate tried her shaky Italian, "Meat for the woman."

He grinned at her Italian. He gave the price. She was suddenly grateful for the card games with Regina and Giovanna. She knew numbers.

Kate turned to the woman and gave the price.

"Too much money it is. Smaller amount I must buy."

"How much money do you have?"

The woman told her, Kate mentally translated the numbers from German to English to Italian and spoke to the meat vendor. He showed them how much it would buy. Kate checked with the customer, and then negotiated the sale. The customer was happy, the vendor was happy, and Kate was happy too. She was able to speak more than two languages. Say, two and a quarter if you counted both and the few words in Polish she had picked up. And two words in Chinese. Kate was feeling very cosmopolitan.

She assisted the Swiss woman for a few more minutes when she suddenly saw the woman she was looking for. Kate melted into the crowd, and came up beside her quarry.

"Excuse me, I would like to talk to you for a few minutes please.", said Kate quietly.

"Why?" The woman was suspicious.

"Because of what happened to Natalia at work. It's for the Newspaper."

The woman turned to Kate in astonishment. "You...are you the one who writes about us?" She had a English accent.

"One of two. But it is a secret. Please. I want people to know about children losing their fingers in the machines. "

The woman looked at Kate, looked around and walked to the mouth of a nearby alley.

"I have five children. My husband is gone. I need to be careful."

"I understand. We don't take notes except in our heads. It's safer for you. I talked to Natalia. I saw her hand. She is lucky to be alive."

"I have seen it happen to several children. It is so much to ask of them. No child can work that many hours without stopping. They get sleepy. Then the machines hurt them. I don't know if any has died from blood loss, but it makes my heart hurt to think of these small children getting hurt like this. They must come from very poor families to need their children to work in such a dangerous job."

"How many of your children work?"

"Mine are 12, 10, 7, 5 and 3. Only the oldest three work, and the youngest of them sells newspapers. I will not let the littlest ones work yet. The five-year old cares for the little one at home. I also use the nursery at Hull House so the little ones can do somethink other than stay in the tenement. I am lucky. Others are not."

"I had never thought about how it might be for mothers with only one child, or no help to care for a child. You have given me a lot to think about. Thank you. " Kate left then, walking away, and not waiting around. She knew it wasn't particularly safe for the woman to be seen talking to her.

As Kate walked home, she saw a man walking the other direction, looking around him. She wondered who he might be meeting, but since she had secrets of her own, she shut the ideas out of her mind. She would be meeting Giovanna the next night to put their information together for their story.

Kate hoped she wouldn't have any more terrible dreams. .


	20. Chapter 20

**Revised** Halstead Street Chapter 20

by Simahoyo

It was suppertime at the boarding house, the night of October 8th. Supper was a fish stew, thanks to some good fish Emil brought home from work. As the men wolfed down their food, Pasquale stopped in mid-bite.

"You know what? This is the anniversary of the Great Fire."

Hugh looked at him, surprised. "I forgot about that. Were you here for it?"

Josh shook his head. "No, I was at the other big one up in Pestigo."

"Never heard of it. I couldn't have been as bad was what we fought though." Pasquale grunted in agreement with Hugh.

"Firemen fist fighting over who would get paid to put it out, while the fire ate up buildings by the block. Some of us just grabbed their stuff and fought the flames anyway."

"I didn't even know I was burned until the next morning.", and Pasquale rolled his sleeve down to show the scar on his arm. "The next day, it was like an army had gone through.. Miles and miles of nothing left."

"Pestigo was different. We lived out in the country. We could smell fire, and then the smoke came. I was a little kid. My Pop looked at the wind, and we could hear the flames. And Pop jumped up, yelling, 'It's headed for town!' He just ran, grabbing a shovel and a couple of buckets. I did the same. I was seven, and I thought I was a man. I jumped on the wagon with him, and we went flying down the road just ahead of the fire."

"Pop had fought forest fires before, and he knew stuff. We stopped outside town, and he started to dig out all the undergrowth. We went at it, down to bare ground, and Pop looked at the flames and the wind, and stopped. 'We gotta get people out of here.' So we started yelling at everyone to run...and they went into the river. Pop told them not to, but they wouldn't listen. So we found an old man who was holding a baby. We took them the other direction from the wind. And the fire made a sound like I never heard before."

"Yeah, like it's alive., said Hugh.

"And it's out to get you.", added Pasquale.

"You got that right. We jumped in the wagon and thundered out of there, and looking back I saw the fire jump right over the trees. My eyes near fell out of my head. That next day, Pop went back, and the whole town was dead. Boiled to death in the river."

"Uff Da!"

"Let's talk about something else, Or I won't be able to eat." Hugh looked at his friends.

"Are we going to that Museum of Industry at Hull House?" Everyone is talking about it. There are women from everywhere showing weaving and spinning, all the old crafts. I heard there's an old woodcarver from Norway–a man who can make wood look like anything."

"Maybe, but when do I have time. Between working and union stuff."

Hugh found himself grinning. 'We could ask some young women.'

'I can't." said Josh, offended. I'm engaged to be married."

"I know just the one", added Hugh. "And before you complain, she has a lovely friend."

The men put their heads together planning a Sunday at Hull House and the whole world.

That evening, the reporting team of Kay Vann had their first disagreement. The nights were getting chilly enough that Kate and Giovanna had moved indoors to the kitchen at Mrs. Fraser's house. The room was still warm from cooking supper. As they put together the sad, horrifying stories they had gotten from their informants, Kate insisted they include details that might make the workers identifiable

Giovanna stiffened. "No. We could get them fired, or beaten. Even killed. We cannot do that to them You don't understand."

"I moved here so I could understand. I thought I was starting to ..."

"You can't completely understand while you have family to go home to, an education, and no one looking at you like a bug they want to squash. You try. I know you do. But until you have no food at all, no money, no nice friend to give you food, not able to identify wild foods to eat, you won't see why we cannot give away who these people are.

Kate hung her head. "No, I don't. Should I quit this–writing about these people?"

"No! What you started is important. We just need to be careful. We want to help them, not hurt them." Giovanna took Kate's hand, squeezed it and let go again. "Kay Vann is needed."

" Then show me how to walk that line.", said Kate.

They wrote and edited for over an hour, then Giovanna typed their story. Kate would do the clandestine delivery the next morning.

Joe stood outside, listening though the paper thin walls. Now he knew the secret of who Kay Vann was, and he wasn't about to beat up a pair of women. He left, mentally listing everything he disliked about Finn Martin. It was a long list. And it was time for him to find another job. He decided to get the job, and quit without telling his soon to be former boss.

Joe's morning was busy. He checked every saloon likely to pay a bouncer. He even hit some of the illegal gambling joints that everybody knew about. Finally, at the end of any real inspiration, he went to the Chicago Sun Times to see if they needed a strong back to sling newspapers around.

He talked to the guy that ran the printing press, who showed Joe the huge roll of newsprint that was fed into the printer. When Joe was able to lift and carry it himself, he had a job. Slick as that.

Joe worked twelve hours each shift. His back and arms were sore, but his conscience was at ease. This was very much worth it. He half expected Finn to show up to get him fired, but nothing happened.. Sure, he made less money, but he expected that working all available hours would soon make up for that little problem. And he wasn't ashamed of his work–not anymore.

That Saturday morning, he was walking to the nearest saloon, collar turned up against the wind when he heard a buggy come to a stop. A man got out, and Finn walked right up to him . "You're fired, and you'll never work in Chicago again!" Joe shrugged and continued on to two beers and a well earned rest.

Kate received a hand written note when Mrs. Wilson arrived to accompany Mrs. Fraser to Ladies' Auxilary.. It was on nice paper, and folded over. She was surprised to discover it was an invitation for her and Giovanna to attend the Museum of Industry with Hugh and his friend, Pasquale, the next morning. Kate took a deep breath. This was something she had never even thought was free, which was good considering the condition of her savings. She had planned to meet Giovanna later at Hull House, but this was too good to wait.

If Kate hurried, she would make it before they left for the church. Kate grabbed two shawls, since the day was windy again, placed one around her shoulders, and the other over her head. Kate sprinted down the street, dodging newsboys, shoppers, and carts selling food. She was just turning the corner as the Amari family came down the stairs–clean and ready to clean the church. They stopped as Kate caught up to them.

"Hello. You all look so nice."

"Thank you, Kate. What is it?", asked Mama.

"I have an invitation for Giovanna and me. Please read it and tell me what you want to do."

Giovanna took the invitation and read it. "I would like to do this, but I must ask Mama and Papa."

She handed the invitation to her parents, who read it together, while Tomaso and Francesco made faces because they were left out. Papa frowned, then looked at Mama.

"Who are these men? How have you met them?" He asked gruffly.

Giovanna smiled at her parents. She had been learning from Kate. "Hugh is the nice man who helped us get away from the factory supervisor who chased us. He knows Mr. And Mrs. Chu.

Pasquale lives with him. They board with Mrs. Wilson, a good friend of Mrs. Fraser.

Mama smiled and nodded. "They went with us to the city council. They are good women. You know Mr. And Mrs. Chu. It is not in the dark."

Papa looked at Kate. "Are they good men?"

"I know Hugh is. He works for my father now. He speaks highly of Pasquale."

"Then you may go. " And Papa smiled.

Kate and Giovanna grinned at each other." Meet at my home for lunch? ", asked Kate.

Giovanna nodded, and Kate was almost floating on her way home.

**AN: Ouch, I made a research error, and had to rewrite. Sorry, everyone.**


	21. Chapter 21

Halstead Street, Chapter 21

by Simahoyo

**AN, please go back and read the revised version of chapter 20. I had to change the date of something.**

When the Chicago Tribune came out with the story by Kay Vann about the small children injured in the weaving factory, the copies flew out of the hands of the newsboys as word spread. Most readers were shocked and angry. Some thought there was nothing anyone could do, but after Kate's father read the story, the newspaper disappeared from the house in the hands of one small boy with a plan.

Hans read the story, and being older than many of the children written about, his temper flared. It was getting close to Walpurges Nacht, and Hans and his, "gang" had plans for mischief, but he decided to change their target and to do some actual good with his mischief. He went down the street, and into the carriage house of his friend, Billy.

Billy was hiding eggs in the hay, to use to egg people. They would be good and rotten by that night.

"Billy. I've got an idea. Did you read the newspaper?"

Billy looked at Hans as if he had grown another head. "I don't read the old newspaper. What idea?"

"There's a place that makes little kids work on huge machines and they lose fingers and other horrible stuff.. If anybody deserves our special attention..."

"Yeah! Besides, I can tell you are real mad about this. It takes a lot to get you all that mad. I'll help. Let's get the rest."

"Okay. Let's start with Rudy. He throws great. And his father is a painter. I wonder what we could hook from his paint supplies."

The two boys went down the alley, straight to the Shuford family shed. A quick peek inside showed Rudi reading a "Dime Novel".

"Rudi, what are you doing?"

Rudi looked up and grinned, "Reading about Dangerous Dan, the cowboy."

"Are you getting ready for Walpurgis Nacht?"

Rudi jumped up, dropping the novel as he went. "Look here." He lifted a drop cloth. " Mine Vater gave me this left over paint. He said it was because I helped with his work, but after some of the stories he told us about his exploits on Walpurgis Nacht, I think we have an ally."

"Good. Father would explode if he knew what we were planning. Did you read about that weaving factory in the Tribune?"

"Oh Yah. That is bad. Are you thinking of hitting that place for our Nacht?"

"Yah. And I can find out the location. How much paint did you get?"

Rudi opened a can, while Billy and Hans looked in. It was half full.

"Good. And the rest?", asked Hans.

"The same."

The sound of loud boots interrupted them. Mr. Shuford walked in before they could scatter.

"Ach, boys. How are you?"

Putting an innocent look on their faces, they gave non-committal replies. Mr. Shuford looked at them with a small smile.

"My son has done good work He has earned some paint. And I trust him to use my horse and wagon one night this month—perhaps Walpurgis Nacht?" He raised an eyebrow in a funny way to let them know that their mischief would not trouble him one bit.

"Danke, mine Vater.", said Rudi, and the others added their thanks. After he left, the boys put their heads together for better planning.

At Noon on Sunday, Giovanna knocked on the door of Mrs. Fraser's house. Kate opened the door and let her in. Giovanna could smell something delicious from the stove. She was unfamiliar with any cooking but her Mama's. This was going to be an adventure. Kate showed her in. The table was set, and Mrs. Fraser was gone.

"Where is Mrs. Fraser?"

"At church. Please sit down. I made noodles and cabbage, with a little corned beef on top. And there are beans cooked with onions and dill weed. I also got a little sour cream, because this is a special occasion."

Giovanna sat, looking at the spread. It was as much food as her Mama liked to serve, now that they could afford enough to fill everyone's stomach. Coffee was also on the table.

Giovanna took the pasta first, and tasted it. It was very good, buttery and meaty.

"Kate, this is good."

"Thank you, Vanna." Kate placed the noodles on her plate and added a spoonful of sour cream. She let it melt in, then ate it.

Giovanna tried some sour cream too. It make it even better. Then she tried the beans. They were herby and nicely cooked. She smiled. "I've never had anything like this. It is very good. And Mama is a wonderful cook."

Kate nodded. "I agree, your Mama is one of the best cooks I have ever met. Fortunately, the other of the best is my Mother."

Lunch went well, although both Kate and Giovanna felt slightly nervous as time went on. After lunch and dishwashing, the knock they were waiting for came at the door. Kate went to answer, opening it to Hugh and Pasquale. She let them in, and listened to their heavy boots on the floor.

"Hello Hugh. You must be Pasquale. I'm Kate and this is Giovanna."

Pasquale looked at Giovanna and blinked. "Hello. I'm glad to meet you both.", but Hugh and Kate noticed he was only looking at Giovanna.

"What have you heard about this museum?", asked Kate.

Hugh grinned. "That everyone in the Ninth Ward who knows a craft will be demonstrating it today."

"I head about a man who can make wood like anything."

Giovanna's smile could have lit up the room. "I would like to see that."

"Then let's go.", offered Hugh. And the four walked out the door and up the street.


	22. Chapter 22

Halstead Street, Chapter 22.

By Simahoyo

As they walked up Halstead, Pasquale couldn't help staring at the beautiful young woman walking next to him. Her eyes were rich brown, big and snapping with intelligence. Her nearly black hair curled with a mind of its own. She was strong and walked with a confident grace.

Pasquale could hardly believe his luck.

Hugh glanced back at his friend, and knew Pasquale was lost to the lovely Giovanna. He smirked at Kate, who grinned back.

"I have heard that Mr. And Mrs. Chu will be demonstrating some special things from China. They are so smart, I want to see what they will be doing.', said Kate.

Pasquale looked at her, surprised. "Oh, the cleaners. I know them. They are smart people."

"Maybe she will show everyone how to keep the numbers for their business.", joked Giovanna.

"I heard there is a woman who can make lace by hand. That would be so much work.", said Hugh.

"I wonder if anyone will know card weaving,", Kate mentioned as she walked around a small tree trying to grow in the street.

A street tough leaned against a doorway, and whistled at the girls. Kate mater-of-factly took out her slingshot and showed it to him. He turned away fast.

"Wow, Hugh, your gal is armed."

Hugh winked at Kate. "I like a woman who can take care of herself. Giovanna is not a fraidy cat either."

Pasquale smiled at her. "Good. Women who live in the Lower Ninth need to be strong."

Giovanna gave him a smile that rivaled the sun. They got to Hull House, and followed the crowd inside.

The familiar halls and classrooms had been arranged to show off various crafts . When they entered the first classroom, they saw Mrs. Chu, standing over a table, covered with paper, and she was painting beautiful Chinese letters on the paper with a brush and black ink. Mrs. Chu looked up and recognized them.

"Hello. I dint expect to see you. You like my writing?"

"I never saw anything so pretty.", said, Giovanna.

Hugh nodded enthusiastically. Kate murmured, " ...much nicer than English."

"I never saw anything like it.", added Pasquale.

Mrs. Chu smiled and puffed up a little with pride. The four decided she deserved the pride.

"Thank you, my friends. You go see more. My husband have huge surprise. You see. Bye now."

The next classroom held a woman with two wooden paddles on her hands. The paddles had teeth made of metal, and she was combing wool, then handing to another lady, who attached it to a heavy wooden button, with a wooden dowel with a hook at one end. She stood, spinning the implement, and turning the wool into yarn. It was so amazing, that the four of then stood, staring in fascination.

The one with the paddles smiled. "We learned to do this in Romania. When we had nothing important to do..."

"...or when we wanted our mothers to think we were too busy to clean up the barn..."

"We could always spin and no one complained. "

"We looked so industrious. We are cousins, and lived on nearby farms."

Giovanna rather hated to leave them. She suspected they had so many stories to tell. Hugh jumped slightly when they got to the next classroom.

"Hey, Pasquale, it's that woodcarver?" and the two men hurried to see his work. The room smelled like wood, while the man, who looked like a Prussian to Kate, used various chisels, knives and sandpaper to turn wood into flowers, dogs, small boys, and other items. The men were like children in front of a toy store. Kate looked at Giovanna, and grinned.

"Look at them. It's cute.", she whispered. Giovanna nodded, looking at Pasquale.

Pasquale and Hugh peppered him with questions. The woodcarver showed them how to make joins, how to bend wood. Finally, so many people were crowed behind them, they finally got Hugh and Pasquale to leave.

The next room was the kitchen, there Mr. Chu was demonstrating something that had people crowded around with their mouths hanging open. He took a lump of dough, held it in his hands and pulled it apart and he swung the dough. As he did so, the dough moved apart into strands and formed noodles.

"I thought making Spazel was different. This is amazing." Kate couldn't take her eyes off the process.

"Wait until I tell Mama"., added Giovanna.

It was an afternoon of fun and learning. As they walked Kate and Giovanna back to Mrs. Fraser's, there was no nervousness. It seemed that they had all become friends.

Meanwhile, Hans organized. He had some time. And he had a plan. He would have laughed if anyone had compared him to a general planning a battle, his family had been pacifists for many generations, but there were some similarities. Billy and Rudi were on board. He went looking for Karl, and finally found him in a tree, eating apples. The tree just happened not to be in his own back yard.

"Karl", he hissed, not wanting the owner to come out and chase them.

Karl tossed an apple down, and Hans had to juggle it to keep from dropping it. Karl dropped down from an branch and the two walked down a path, eating apples.

""Walpurgis Nacht is looking good."

"Oh? What are you doing?"

"Paint, rotten eggs, so far, and a very deserving target."

"Yah. What do you think of flour paste? It dries hard and is a pain to get off things. My Mother found weevils in her flour, so I hooked it before she could dump it. I hid it in the cellar."

Hans stopped, looking at Karl with admiration. "That was smart. Mother uses bay leaves. Glad yours doesn't. We are meeting at dusk at Rudi's. He is borrowing his father's wagon."

Karl tossed his apple core. "Nice. Who is our deserving target?"

"The factory where the children lost their fingers."

A hard look crossed Karl's face. "Those snakes. Let's git them good. Who else we got?"

"Billy, and I need to find Manford. He's a good climber."

"I think he might be hooking coal off the rail road tracks. His Ma is worried about a hard winter."

"We can help him. I got a gunny sack in my pocket.", and Hans pulled a sack out of his jacket pocket, dropping marbles, a horse chestnut, and a pencil stub out on the ground. He stuffed them back in his pocket and they ran down to the railroad tracks.

Manford was there picking up coal that spilled from trains going by. His sack as about half full.

"Hey, Manford. Need help?", shouted Karl.

"Yah. Thanks."

They picked up coal for several minutes before Hans asked, "Want to join us for Walpurgis Nacht?"

"Maybe. What do you want me for?"

Hans laughed. "Your special talent. We need to paint on a factory so everyone can see. This means working from the roof. Could you do it?"

"Yah, with strong ropes, so I can hang down. I can do it. When and where?"

"Rudi's, at dusk."

And Hans wasn't the only one whose plans were coming together. In the rail yard, a freight car opened and two workers helped a small women dressed as a man out of the car. One lead her off to her new hiding place, while the other got rid of any evidence she had been in the car.


	23. Chapter 23

Halstead Street Chapter 23

by Simahoyo

**AN: I split a very long chapter. More to come.**

At dusk, movement began. The woman dressed as a man who had gotten off the freight train was escorted to a basement heated with a small brasier and the windows open.

Pasquale went from his boarding house to an alley, then up some stairs to a long passageway between tenements. He turned several corners, and emerged at the same basement.

Giovanna looked out her window at the sound of a whistle. A young, blonde boy looked up at her and waved. She slipped downstairs to meet with Hans Munk.

They moved to a section of the tenement out of the wind, and away from the slumbering Newsboys. Giovanna pulled her shawl closer around her.

"Hello Hans."

"Giovanna, thank you for meeting me. I have plans to, well, you could say, 'decorate' that factory you and my sister wrote about. But she figured out I was up to something and won't tell me where it is."

The look on his face told her this was no boyish prank, but a political act made to appear as one. She was torn. Kate would be angry–but Giovanna agreed with Hans. That factory needed punishing. She drew a scrap of paper out of her pocket.

"Do you have something to write with?"

Hans dug in his jacket pocket and produced the stub of a pencil. Giovanna took it and drew him a map to the factory.

"Don't tell your sister."

"I won't. I know what she's like when she's mad. Thanks, Giovanna. They won't get away unpunished–I promise." They shook hands on it, and Hans disappeared into the night.

The basement was filling up with Knights of Labor. Voices were kept low, while men took turns guarding the door under the guise of smoking cigarettes. The center of attention was a short, white-haired woman with a motherly demeanor. Actually, the men called her, Mother Jones.

"Thanks for putting me up, boys. I've been in some of the best jails in mining country, but this basement beats them all because I'm here with you fighting the operators and bosses.

"I asked a man in prison once how he had gotten there. He said he had stolen a pair of shoes. I told him that if he had stolen a rail road, he could be a United States senator."

"Our president is always talking about our nation's prosperity, but when I see a man with nol home, sleeping a a park or in a doorway, and little children working sixty hours a week, I want to see some prosperity for the ones who do the work. We all see the operators and their wives riding in their carriages, dressed in silks and furs and their daughters in diamonds talking French to their pet poodle. Meanwhile our children are being sold on the installemt plan for two dollars a week."

"I remember the Greta Fire. I lost everything I owned–butr I'd go through it again because that's where I met Terrance Powderly and the Knights od Labor. I learned to fight back, and to demand our rights–our rights and the rights of our children"

"So tell me your plans, boys, and I'll do all I can to help. I've been shot at, arrested and called the most dangerous woman in America. To me, anyone who fights for their rights is dangerous and I lover dangerous people." The need to be Quiet was punctured by yelps of agreement from many of the Knights. Then they would cover their mouths and look guilty.

"Don't worry, boys, tomorrow and Saturday and however long it takes, we'll make enough noise so the Aldermen and olperators, and even the governor will sit up and listen."

If there was such a thing as a quiet cheer, that is what they did then. Pasquale and a couple of other organizers stepped forward to outline their plans.

The Lower 19th Ward gossip telegram was buzzing with the news that Mother Jones would be speaking in front of the Saloon Building and noon. Word was that there was a general strike called, and that everyone was to walk out at 10 AM.

Giovanna was nervous. She loved her job and knew she was highly paid. She didn't want to offend the people who had hired her, so she asked her boss for a quick meeting before 10 that morning.

When she sat down in front of him, she wrung her hands, then steeled herself.

"Sir, I am so happy working here. This is a wonderful job, and I know you treat all of us fairly. But there are others who are...well, tyrants. And I would like to show my feelings about how their employees are treated. My five year old neighbor lost her fingers in a factory machine. So many people have nothing and I have so much. I ...don't want you to think I am not grateful..."

"You want to join the General Strike.", he said.

"Only for one day. I'll work Sunday to make it up. If only..."

He frowned and tapped his fingers. Giovanna's heart raced. "Go, but work an extra hours a day to make it up. The truth is, that if I didn't have a business to run, I would be there too. Those fellows make the rest of us look bad."


	24. Chapter 24

Halstead Street Chapter 24

by Simahoyo

**AN: If you wondered...yes, I have been in several demonstrations broken up by police. Think of this as a bit of my life without the CS gas.**

Kate, being Kate, did no such thing. She just quietly put away her things at ten sharp, and walked out of the bank alone.

She knew this was no real act of bravery. She was important to the bank, and if they were offended enough to fire her, she could depend on her father to fund her until she found another job.

At eleven, she was part of the crowd gathered at the Saloon Building to see and hear, "Mother Jones." That sea of humanity included factory workers, teamsters, people from Hull House, and some tough hostile looking men at the back of the crowd.

Kate noticed Pasquale and looked around for Hugh, but instead found Giovanna. She plowed into the crowd like an icebreaker, moving toward her goal. She found Giovanna standing next to Broniaslawa.

"Hello."

They turned and smiled at her.

"Kate. Good to see you."

"Hi, Bronia, it's been a while since I last saw you."

Bronia's face was sad. "My mother died. I've been playing Mother and working too."

"I'm sorry. Does your father have a job?"

"Yes, but he works sixty-five hours a week. I only work fifty-five, so I can feed the children and patch their clothing. I must help, but Ladislaw asked me to marry him..."

"Oh, he's nice.", said Kate.

"I like him.", added Giovanna.

Bronia had tears in her eyes. "Mother's dying wish was for all the children to finish fourth grade."

Giovanna put her arm around her friend. "How many are left in school?"

"Three. Stan is in fourth grade now. Marja is in second, and Heddy in first. So Stan will finish this summer, but I don't want to wait four years. I'll be twenty one years old. I don't want to be an old maid."

Kate thought for a second. "Maybe some of the little ones could stay with you after you are married. At least until they finish school."

Giovanna nodded her head enthusiastically. "Or they could go to you first, have dinner, and to your Father when he gets home."

"Those are good ideas. Thank you my friends. I'll talk with Laddi, and we will find a good way to get my brother and sisters educated."

A murmur went through the crowd. A group of young, big and strong German men, Obviously members of the local Turnvereins, with supporters of the Knights of Labor trooped in as an honor guard for a tiny, white-haired woman wearing a black dress, grey shawl and a hat decorated with silk flowers. This had to be Mother Jones.

She looked soft and angelic until Kate saw her eyes. They glittered with a determination she had seen at times in her own mirror. For such a small woman, her voice carried to the whole crowd.

"I read in your Chicago Tribune that some children as young as five had lost their fingers in machines that weave the carpets The Aldermen and Assemblymen and even some of us who might work in a hotel or a bank walk on."

"Fifty years ago there was a cry against slavery and the men of the North gave up their lives to stop the selling of Black children on the block. Today, the White child is sold for two dollars a week to the manufacturer. Today those babies are sold on the installment plan–he might die at his tasks–then they can just replace him with another, while his parents try to figure a way to afford to bury him."

"People write about carefree children running about in the countryside, breathing fresh air and playing. Singing and fishing for sport–not to help feed their family."

"Now those real childfren's lungs are filled with dust from threads. Their backs are stooped, and their little fists missing a finger or two if they are lucky. Others are sent away when they are hurt, to find someone who might be kind enough to bind up the stump of their fists."

"Without that two dollars a week, their family could be turned out of their tenement, and get fresh air by sleeping out in the cold. You and I have seen them huddled in the alleys, hiding in the parks. Begging for food."

"The operators and manufacturers call them lazy–and spend enough on feeding their dog what would provide more than a crust of bread for these human children. We must all fight together so every worker is paid what his labor is worth , and so children could wok only fifty hours a week instead of sixty-five."

Kate heard the cat calls from the tough looking men in the back. The Turnvereins moved nervously –edging closer to Mother Jones.

"Without workers to make the things in the factories, what good are they?"

"What good are you, you old crone!" was shouted from the back.

The shout made Kate jump. Mother Jones took off her hat and stuck her finger through the hole in it.

"If that's how bad a shot you are, I expect I can speak for another hour before you hit me."

As the crowd roared with laughter, Kate saw three of the Turnvereins leave, moving towards the back.

"The only way we can fight all this is to work together. Unions help us–it's they way to get the point across to the high and mighty, that if they throw a rock at ujs, we will come back at them like a swarm of bees. One bee alone ain't much, but a whole hive can let the bear know he ain't getting any free lunch off us."

"Now's about the time the cops will come will come, so let's get going for now. We all need to keep fighting. Don't let this be the end of it."

The Turnverein escorted her away and the crowd started to disburse. A fight broke out and Giovanna was shocked to see Pasquale trying to get a rifle away from a man. She ran to them, picked up a handful of dirt and threw it in the rifleman's face.

Pasquale grabbed the rifle and Giovanna and they ran. Police whistles were sounding behind them, and both knew the police would blame Pasquale for shooting at Mother Jones. Pasquale led them up an alley, behind an outhouse and through a tiny strip of weeds between tenements. They raced up some stairs and into a dark, airless hallway. They went under a stairwell, around some boys gambling with dice. One of the boys jumped up, pointed to a stack a wood and said, "Go left to the big pipe." They nodded their thanks and followed his directions–until a huge concrete pipe provided a good hiding place for them. They stood inside, panting, trying to catch their breath.

Pasquale looked at Giovanna. "Thanks–and are you nuts? That's the guy who shot at Mother Jones."

Giovanna finally caught her breath. "I was mad. You didn't have any weapon, so I threw dirt. It worked, didn't it?"

Pasquale shook his head, "Can't argue with that."

It wasn't like any romantic story Giovanna had heard or imagined. Pasquale wasn't the most handsome man in Chicago, His mustache was scraggly, but there was something about how he was fighting to change their world. He was like Jane Addams, and her Pappa and Garibaldi all at once. He was what Mama called a good man.

They stayed quiet until the boy who had helped them came back to say the police were gone.

"Was anybody hurt?", asked Giovanna.

"The cops started to bust heads but the Turnve...the Turn...hell, the Turners surrounded them and they are all so huge the cops left. Can I have that rifle? You have to get rid of it anyway."

"Just a minute there. What do you have in mind?"

"Shooting racoons and such. My old man showed me how. I ain't no robber."

Pasquale laughed, but he took out a big blue handkerchief and wiped it down first.

"Thanks. Me and the boys were getting hungry."

The boy sauntered off with the rifle, while Pasquale and Giovanna walked to the nearest streetcar stop. As they went up to the line, Pasquale couldn't help where his mind went. Giovanna was more than a typical Italian girl. She was smart, gutsy, and understood the way the world worked. He knew he needed someone special in his life. Someone who could survive his fight for working people's rights and one who wouldn't retreat. He looked at her out of the sides of his eyes. Yes, she was beautiful, but she was also a scrapper. She was loyal to her friends and family. She had more sense than her friend, Kate. Maybe she was that special someone he had been looking for. He reached over and took her by the hand. Giovanna looked at him and smiled.


	25. Chapter 25

Halstead Street, Chapter 25

by Simahoyo

The moon rose over the trees as a wagon pulled up behind the Amsterdam Rug Factory. The driver halted the horses, and tied them to the hitching post. The boys in the wagon jumped out and started removing a ladder, ropes fitted with pulleys, long handled brushes and buckets of paint. They made as little noise as possible. Hans used his pocket knife to open a can of paint and dipped a brush into a light green paint which would contrast nicely with the dark brick walls of the factory.

He painted a stroke down, then one at an angle down from the middle and another angled up from the middle. His next stroke was a single one beside his original letter, "K". He followed with two letter "L's", a rather artistic letter, "E" and then an "R" and a final "S".

Billy, Rudi and Karl admired his work, then set up the ladder as Manford looped the ropes around his shoulder and tied his paint bucket to his belt. He put a jack knife in his pocket.. The other boys held the ladder while Manford climbed it to the roof. Once there, he untied the paint bucket and used his knife to pry it open. It was an ugly pink, as he stirred it, the color grew paler.

Now he set up the complicated system of ropes and pulleys, tying part of it to good strong protrusions anchoring the rest to the roof. He then arranged the lines triangle fashion, so he could hang down, and also move sideways as he painted. Finally satisfied with his work, he tied his paint can to his belt, and frowned. He looked down at Rudi.

"I forgot the blasted brush. Please toss one up to me."

The brush came flying up to him, landing close to his feet. He picked it up, and tied himself into his rig, letting himself down facing the top of the wall. He managed not a spill a drop of paint.

He reached out with a sweeping curve, the top of an, "S", then leaned back to complete it.

His friends were critiquing below, watched with fingers crossed as he moved to the right. Manford was careful with his, "H". He wanted to watch out for smearing his finished work.

He moved right again, careful not to touch his finished work. He managed an, "A", then feeling his rhythm, moved the rigging right again, suddenly a pulley slipped.. Manford's stomach dropped along with his body. It took some clever maneuvering before he was righted and ready to paint again. His hand only shook a little bit. He took a deep breath and waited for his heart rate to slow down.

Below him, his friends were applauding. He waved down to them, and started painting again. The , "M" was hard, he used his feet planted against the wall to keep from smearing the finished work. One more letter to go. Manford gritted his teeth, He started the top of the, "E", made the center, and lower part, then that final downstroke. His friends called up to him.

"Good job."

"You're an artist, Mannie."

"I'm getting down now. Get ready to help me out.", asked Manford.

He cut the rope the paint can hung from, and it splatted on the loading dock below. He threw the brush after it, and Rudi grabbed it, putting it, and the other brushes in the wagon, wrapping them to keeping them from drying out. As Rudi returned with the rotten eggs, the other boys held the ladder for Manford. He stood back to admire his work, and they started in throwing paint all over the windows and doors. Grinning widely, they finished with the rotten eggs. Each would splat, a God awful stink permeated the air, and the broken shells slid down the wall. All in all, it was their best Walpurgis Nacht ever.

The next morning, the crowd outside the once proud Amsterdam Rug factory building was pointing and laughing. The factory supervisor, his face red and stomping his boots, thundered through the crowd to look at the mess. The words, "Shame" and "Killers" were painted in six foot high letters on the building. Windows and doors were covered in splashes of paint, while the stink of rotten eggs made the bile fill his mouth. He spat it out.

How could they work inside? The place was too dark to see the machinery well enough. He unlocked the door and went into the office, turning on the light, then picking up the telephone. He cranked the handle, waited, and when the operator came on, started the marathon that was a long distance call. Three operators later, he had the secretary for the Amsterdam Rug Company on the line. As he waited for his boss–the owner, fear set in.

"Boss, this is Will over at the Chicago factory. We got trashed last night. Looks like kids. There's paint all over the windows–they are covered with it. It's dark as hell inside. Plus they hit the place with a lot of rotten eggs. What do you want me to do?"

"What? You let a bunch of Hooligan kids wreck my factory? Where the hell was the night watchman?"

"You told me to let him go because he cost too much."

"Damn it! Get to cleaning. Call the cops. Make sure everyone knows that if they can't work, I can't pay them. This will cost me a fortune. I had better be back in production tomorrow. Get moving!" And he hung up–hard.

Will knew he was better off not mentioning the words painted on the building , or his suspicion that the story in the Tribune had come back to haunt them. He also knew who would be doing most of the cleaning. He wondered how he would reach the paint just under the roof. Maybe he should paint over the whole business. Will called the police next. Then he pushed his way outside to turn away his workers.

By the time the police arrived, and Will saw only two of them, he was ready to scream bloody murder. That fat one with the walrus mustache acted like he was in charge. The young one had ears that stuck out.

They stood, looking at the damage. The fat one used his nightstick to scratch his head under his helmet. The young one opened a notebook and poised a pencil for writing.

"What do you think, Sarge?"

"Looks awful good for kids doing it. And why would kids write those words? I bet it was union thugs." The young one wrote it down.

They walked around, looking at the loading dock. Any footprints were rubbed out by the earlier crowd. Will could see where a ladder had been set against the building. "Sarge" poked the marks with his nightstick.

"They used a ladder. Do you have one inside?" Will nodded and they went inside to grab it.

The young cop climbed the ladder. He stopped at the top and stared.

"Hey, there's footprints up here in the dirt. Small ones. Gotta be from a kid. "

"You sure?"

"Yep. Probably about eleven or so. It was kids all right. Especially since last night was Walpurgis Nacht, when German kids get up to mischief."

"So some damn kids spend their old man's money to make this mess, and I have to clean it up? Can't you catch them?"

"It would be hell to find them, and it's murder to make anything stick to those kids with money. Sorry. Nothing we can do."

Will damned the cops after they left. The kids as he bought paint and brushes, turpentine and rags for the clean up, and found some ragged men willing to help for a beer. It took two days, which he knew he would not be paid for. If he ever found those blasted kids...

Those blasted kids were standing taller. Rudi's father was proud of the cause his tools and left over paint had been used for. And shortly after His parents found out about the raid of the rug factory, Hans was rewarded with his first pair of long pants.


	26. Chapter 26

Halstead Street, Chapter 26

by Simahoyo

**AN I'm in new territory here, and I need feedback. Are you still interested in the story? Do you like the characters? Do you like were I'm going?**

After all the publicity Summer had as the hottest in history, Old Man Winter was jealous and ready to strut his stuff. He came roaring across Lake Michigan like nothing the oldest of Old Timers remembered. A few feet of snow was usually no challenge to the hardy Chicagoans, but then it froze solid so that the act of walking resembled mini-mountain climbing. The streetcars came to a halt and workers had to add hours while walking in 2 pair of wool socks inside their boots, leggings, scarves wrapped around their middles, a sweater or two, and a coat. Plus a hat, earmuffs, a scarf around the neck and covering their faces, and mittens over gloves. But only if they could afford them.

Inside was little better. There was a shortage of wood to burn and parks and dumps were ransacked for scrap. Crews went out to clear the rails. Chicago was the freight capitol of the United States, and without the railroads running there, the whole country's business would shut down.

Kate was still working at the bank after having her pay docked and listening to a lecture from her boss. At least that's what it looked like. Kate had long ago perfected looking ashamed and attentive while ignoring whatever was being said.

Now her worries narrowed to getting through the winter. Workmen were clearing the iced up streetcar tracks, so getting to work was no longer an ordeal. But Kate's biggest trial was sawing and splitting Mrs. Fraser's woodpile. They depended on it for both heating and cooking. Kate's arms burned with the work and the sound of wood splitting invaded her dreams. Banking the fire at night caused them the shiver under their blankets and quilts. Kate remembered her old featherbed at her parents house with great fondness.

It was when Kate heard Mrs. Fraser coughing that she stopped dreaming. She had worked out a means of getting messages to her parents. Kate bundled up, and walked over to the boardinghouse. The wind nearly knocked her over before she got to the front steps and turned the doorbell key. She hopped from foot to foot before Mrs. Wilson opened the door and pulled her in the shut out the cold.

"Hello dear. Are you looking for Hugh?" Mrs. Wilson was helping Kate out of her winter things.

"Yes, I need to get a message to my parents"

"He and the other fellows are wrapped around the stove in the sitting room. Go on in."

When Kate walked into the room, the boarders all looked up and smiled.

"Hullo Kate.", called out Emil.

"Move over and let her in.", said Pasquale. Joseph scooted his chair over while Hugh got up and held his chair for her.

"Hi there. Are you here for the Hugh Martin message service?"

Kate sat in the proffered chair.. "Thank you. I came to see you all too, but I do have a message. Mrs. Fraser is getting too cold. Could you ask my Father if he would send my old featherbed for her? Oh, and do any of you know where I might get some scrap lumber? Cheap!"

Joseph grinned at her. "I walk past one every day. There's a factory that makes doors and window sashes. They have a big pile of unpainted scraps outside. It's on De Koven street., about 2 blocks from Hull House. They sell it by the wagon load, but if you have a wheel barrow, I'll bet they'll sell it to you."

"Great, Joseph. What is it called?"

"Ace doors and windows. There's an ace of spades on the sign."

"I really appreciate that. I think my arms will fall off with all the wood chopping I've been doing."

Hugh touched Kate's shoulder.

"Think of the muscles you'll have to push me around with."

Kate turned and mock glared at Hugh. "And where were you while the General Strike was on?"

"I was working for you father., who, by the way, had a sign in his store window saying,'This store supports the General Strike.' He is a Republican after all."

"What did the customers say?"

Hugh laughed. "Some agreed. Some left the second they saw it. And a few bought extra to support the strike."

"The one thing I hope no one did was disagree with him. He launches into these long political speeches. I grew up listening to those."

Hugh coughed. "So did I. Somehow I think I would have preferred your father's speeches to my father's." Hugh hesitated a minute, then added, "Could I speak to you a minute?"

Emil and Pasquale elbowed each other and laughed. Joseph glared at them, while Hugh pulled Kate's chair out for her as she stood, and escorted her to the kitchen. The second they were alone, they threw their arms around each other.

"I've missed you so much."

Hugh kissed Kate, then they touched foreheads. "Kate, why do you keep backing off every time

I bring up marriage?"

Kate looked him right in the eye. "My parents are Lutherans."

"So what? You haven't been to church since you moved here."

"I have listened to my Father and Mother talk about how their friends disowned their children for marrying Catholics–it seems like since I can remember. I can't be cut off from my family. I love them. My problem is that I also love you."

"I love you back. I kind of would enjoy seeing the look on my father's face if he heard I married a Lutheran, German, whose father is a Republican."

"I'm his hate list."

Both were quiet for a long time, although Kate's fingers moved along Hugh's upper arm.

"Give me time. I'll think of something." They embraced again, and Hugh walked her to the door, handing her each winter item in its turn.. On her short walk home, Kate thought about her problem. It was like climbing a mental glass mountain.

Giovanna opened the door to her family's tenement room. Mama was cooking dinner on top of the pot belly stove. "That smells delicious Mama."

She kissed her Mama on the cheek and put her coat away. It was rather cold inside. They could see their breath. But they were better off than many of their neighbors.

"Mama, I've been worried about the newsboys. I haven't seen them, and I hope they found a warm place to sleep."

"The church is open for people to get warm, and Hull House. But so many don't have any place safe to sleep. I agree that if they don't have anyplace, we should try to help them. After all, we used to see them every night."

Mama held up the spoon for Giovanna to taste.

"Oh, that is so good, Mama. What's in it?"

"I dried enough basil and oregano for the whole winter. You remember I dried tomatoes in the sun. I think the taste of the dried things makes it taste better."

"Yes, the tomatoes are richer and sweeter. And the bacon ends make it so...so..."Giovanna kissed her fingertips and opened her hand. Mama grinned at the compliment.

I was thinking that Tomaso has grown out of his clothes again. I can't let his pants out anymore, and his arms stick out way below his sleeves. If you find the newsboys, we could given them his old things if I can find some his size from the Old Clothes Man.

"Mama, are you planning to withdraw from the Banco di Mama?" Giovanna tried to sound shocked.

"You brother has no fashion ideas at all. Whatever fits, he will wear. If it is too long, then I hem the trousers and sleeves, and roll them down as he grows. He is so much easier than Francesco. 'Mama, I want a red vest. 'Mama please find me boots that shine.' I told him to buy his own." Giovanna laughed because she had heard her brother say those exact things.

The sound of heavy boots on the stairs got Giovanna moving, setting the table. The door came open and freezing air filled the room. Papa, Francesco and Tomaso came in, slammed the door and started to take off hats and so forth.

"That smells good, Mama!, said Francesco. He took off his coat and threw it on the back of his chair.

Papa swatted at him. "Hang that up. Why do you think I pound the nails in the wall?"

Papa hung his hat and coat , and so did Tomaso. Francesco stood, and threw his coat in the general direction of the wall. When he missed, Giovanna picked it up, glaring at her brother and hung it up properly.

Finally, they were all seated for saying grace –then they dug into the food. The sounds of eating filled the room.

Giovanna took a break. "Papa, have you seen the newsboys from downstairs."

"No. I hope they found a warm place."

Tomaso spoke with his mouth full, earning a backhanded swat from Papa.

"I talked to one. They found a coal chute they can slide down to sleep in a nice warm boiler room.

Mama crossed herself. "Thank God! Now I don't need to worry."


	27. Chapter 27

Halstead Street, Chapter 27

by Simahoyo

Winter deepened, sitting on his haunches and howling. People stuffed the cracks in their walls with newspaper. Trips to the outhouse could be dangerous and so the, "Pitcher on the table and the catcher under the bed, "were used more than ever...even by those without a bed or a table. The smell was not adding to anyone's comfort.

It was Sunday afternoon, Kate's half-day off. She decided to take a wheelbarrow from Mrs. Fraser's shed and visit Ace Doors and Windows for scrap wood. The second she stepped outside, her throat constricted from the cold. She put her hand over the scraf she had wrapped over her nose and mouth to warm her breath. She used a shovel to clear the snow from in from of the shed door so she could open it, and got out the wheelbarrow, then closed and locked it again. She had twenty-five cents in pennies and nickels in her pocket as she set off for the factory. The way was slippery and rutted. At times her teeth rattled with the wheelbarrow.

When she got to Ace Door and Windows, she followed the signs to the wood scrap heap–no larger than a mole hill. Kate huffed her disappointment, but went in because they might be able to use what was left for two days. A man was closed inside a tiny shed with smoke coming out a stovepipe through the roof. He poked his head out.

"I'm here for wood."

"Not much left. A fella come by and bought a wagon load about an hour ago."

"I noticed. I'll take what's left."

"Ok, I'll give a you a shovel. Load up and we'll see what you owe."

Kate shoveled the wood into the barrow until the scraps were gone and the wheelbarrow was almost one third full. The man took his shovel back. He rubbed the back of the his head thoughtfully.

"Ain't much, is it? How about five cents?"

Kate shrugged. And pulled a nickel out of her pocket.. She pulled the handles up, and set off for home. It really wasn't worth it. She imagined all sorts of terrible accidents happening to whoever bought the wagon load before she got there.

By the time Kate got the wheelbarrow emptied into the wood box, put it away and cleaned up, she was in a foul mood. She went to the stove and added half of the wood scraps. Then she washed her hands, glad that the pipes were not frozen. By the time she was able to check on Mrs. Fraser, Kare was alarmed to see her landlady shivering in her bed.' Kate stripped a blanket off her own bed and covered Mrs. Fraser with it. Then, mimicking her mother, placed her inner elbow on her landlady's forehead

"I'm afraid you have a fever. How are you feeling?"

"Tired and cold. This weather is hard on my body as it grows older."

Kate smiled in sympathy. "I'm trying to get my old featherbed for you. I remember it was so warm and cosy. I did spill cocoa on it when I was five, so it has a little stain."

"Oh that's fine. It sounds lovely.

The kitchen at Hull House was the only place not crowded with families getting out of the cold. Mary and Ellen sat at the table, staring at their empty cups.

"That Jane. Honestly, she hasn't been back for three days. I wish we could find anyone to help doctor these people.", said Mary. Her voice sounded as tired as she was, cooking for more than a hundred people daily.

Ellen nodded. She knew Jane's secret, and kept it. They had been close friends since their days at the Rockford Women's Seminary. Jane had a very crooked spine and wore a heavy brace on her back for years. Jane struggled with the pain her whole life, and Ellen was worried for her.

"Sometimes I wish I had medical training. I feel so useless."

Mary stared at Ellen in shock. "What? You teach more than half of our classes, visit families to comfort them when someone has died, push the state Assembly for change, get donations—clean."

"But I feel useless. Maybe because she does so much more than ...than is good for her."

"Well, we can both take care of Jane. That's how we can help with her doctoring."

Jane was finally able to leave the Libowitz tenement room when Mrs. Libowitz's fever broke and she was on the road to recovery. Jane's back was at medium pain. Bad enough that her jaw hurt from clenching it, and to make walking an act of penance.. She got to Hull House finally, and up the front steps. The door opened and Ellen peeped put.

"Jane, get inside." and Jane felt herself being pulled into the house. Ellen helped Jane out of her winter things, muttering about Jane needing to take better care of herself..

"Ellen, I'm fine. Just tired. I'd like to sit down."

Ellen hung up Jane's things and followed her into the parlor, stepping over children and their parents who were living there. Ellen noticed Jane chose a straight backed chair.

"How is your...?"

"Hurts. I'll just rest for a bit." and Jane closed her eyes.

The sound of a wagon pulling up behind Mrs. Fraser's house got Kate's attention. She threw on her coat and yanked on her boots, opening the door to see Hugh driving a team of horses and wagon up close to the back door. The wagon was heaping full of wood scraps. Her love for him warmed her. He hitched the horses, set the brake and jumped down to scoop Kate up into his arms.

"You're the one who cleaned out Ace's woodpile."

"I wanted to surprise you. You went all the way over there only to be disappointed. I'll bet you were mad."

"I'm not now. It's a wonderful surprise. I'll help unload." Kate looked around the yard. "Where can we put it? If we leave it outside, it will be gone tomorrow."

"Any room in the shed?", asked Hugh.

"If we move things around and take the wheelbarrow inside."

Hugh and Kate dragged the barrow into the tiny mudroom. Kate grabbed a hat, gloves and a scarf, putting them on as they ran outside and closed the door. It took little effort to rearrange the few things in the shed, and they started to fill it with wood. The snow shovel had new duty as Hugh shoved wood out of the wagon. Kate used the wood box to toss the wood scraps in to the shed. They got into a good rhythm until the wood started to fall back out the door. Hugh jumped down and looked at the door, went to the old woodpile , and selected some branches to weave across the doorway. He and Kate were then able to fill the shed all the way full. The rest was added to the woodpile, and wouldn't present such a temptation to the neighbors.

Then the two of them loaded the wood box, and went inside. Hugh carried the wood box while Kate took the paper wrapped feather bed. It felt huge.

Kate untied the bundle while Hugh put the wood box in its usual place.

"This seems a lot larger than I remember."

"Oh, there's two of them in there. your mother has been experimenting again."

"Oh dear. What now?", whispered Kate.

There were two featherbeds inside, one with the cocoa stain, so Kate immediatly took it in to Mrs. Fraser. She was asleep, so Kate took off her blanket, and replaced it with the featherbed. It fairly floated down, and Mrs. Fraser smiled in her sleep.. Kate returned her blanket to her own bed and went back to see her mother's experiment.

She picked up the featherbed, which was light and fluffy. She sniffed it, and there was no odor. Kate looked at Hugh.

"You'll never guess. I think it's brilliant. She filled it with milkweed fluff.".

"What? How ever did she think of that?"

"Well, you know she grows milkweed to use the roots for medicine, and couldn't stand the waste of the fluffy stuff. She had wanted to make a featherbed for you, but didn't think chicken feathers would be soft enough to use, so she picked the pods just before they opened, threw out the seeds and substituted the fluff for goose down. What do you think?"

"That my mother is a genius. I'm putting it on my bed." Kate put the new, "featherbed" on top of her bed, then went in to check on Mrs. Fraser. Kate was alarmed to hear wheezing from her landlady's lungs. Even Kate knew that was a very bad sign."

"Hugh, Come in her please.", her tone was quietly alarmed.

Hugh dashed in and listened, frowning. "This is bad. Should I go get Jane Addams?"

Kate nodded as he tore out the door and up the street. Kate checked for fever, and Mrs. Fraser was hot. A wet cloth on her forehead seemed to help a little. Kate was nervous. She heard Hugh open the door. He was alone. Kate's stomach dropped."She's out with another family. I heard Joseph say he knew about someone else. I'll go ask him."

Hugh as out the door and running. It was a slippery run, but he was home, yanked the door open, and shut it behind him

"Joseph, You home?"

"Yes, back here."

His friend was sitting by the stove, but one look at Hugh's face, and he stood up.

"You said you know a doctor?"

"Healer, but yes. What's wrong?"

"Mrs. Fraser's really sick. Jane Addams is out. Can you get him?"

Joseph was already pulling on his coat and hat, stepping in his boots, and tying them.

"I like Mrs. Fraser. Anna Frenchman lives over on 12th Street. I sure hope she's home. She's not too young anymore. I hope we don't take too long. She's slowed down some. I'll meet you at Mrs. Fraser's house."

Joseph ran one way and Hugh walked the olther. Both well aware of the emergency.


	28. Chapter 28

Halstead Street, Chapter 28

by Simahoyo

Anna Frenchman was home and her neat and cosy tenement room was filled with mason jars of dried herbs, neatly labeled. There was a leather bag by the door that Joseph suspected was filled with doctoring items.

"Anna. My neighbor is real sick. She needs help. She's an older lady and the cold isn't helping her."

Anna looked at him. "I'd better take my spectacles then." She buzzed around filling her bag with herb jars and salves. She put on an old fashioned fur coat and boots, along with wool leggings tied close around her legs. Her fur mittens and two wool hats completed her outerwear.

She and Joseph walked as fast as they dared toward Mrs. Fraser's house. Anna held Joseph's arm to keep steady. They didn't talk much. It was too cold to keep up their usual chatting.

Joseph smiled as he remembered how he had met Anna. He was at the gathering of pushcarts and so forth, buying some things for Mrs. Wilson, when he saw an older lady with long, white hair, and very familiar coloring buying some herbs. As she turned to go, he touched her arm.

"Greetings."

She looked surprised, then smiled as she nodded at him.

"Greetings. It isn't often that I see one of The People here."

"I'm Joseph. I came down from Wisconsin."

"And I'm Anna. I never moved more than a mile."

"Illini?", he asked.

"No, Winnebago. You?"

"Menominee. It's nice to meet you. Are you here often?"

"Every other week or so. I live over on 12th Street. I buy herbs because I'm a..."

"Healer? I could feel it from you. Is it okay to walk you back to your place?"

As they walked, they talked. Joseph had never figured out why White people got the idea about Indians not talking. He never met a quiet Indian in his life. They traded life stories and discussed the state of various treaties. Joseph bragged about his fiancee. Anna spoke of her deceased husband.

Over the years, they had many chats, and Joseph learned that Anna was healer to most Native people in the area. He added his name to her list and she promised he could get help whenever he needed it.

Now they were in front of Mrs. Fraser's. Kate had been watching for them, and let them right in. Kate was obviously too worried to think of her manners, she just led them to Mrs. Fraser's corner where her bed was. He could hear her wheezing right away. Anna dumped her outerwear on a chair and washed her hands. She took a rolled up and taped sheet of parchment out of her bag and listened to Mrs. Fraser's lungs and heart. She went into the kitchen and heated the teapot for hot water, taking out something called Joe Pye weed and made tea with it, using a cotton tea bag for steeping. Then she got out comfrey root and fenugreek seed, grinding them together in her mortar and pestle. She made that into a thick paste, rolling it into little balls.

Then Anna took both into Mrs. Fraser, sitting her up, and giving her the tea in sips. She used a glass of water to dose her patient with two of the little balls. Then she rubbed a salve on her chest and after heating a towel on the stove top and checking the temperature, laid it on Mrs. Fraser's chest.

It was clear to Joseph that Anna really knew what she was doing. As Mrs. Fraser rested, Joseph introduced Anna to Kate and Hugh. Then they both looked vastly relieved.

"Thank you for coming, Anna. I was so worried about her.", said Kate.

"I'll stay until she's better. These young men should get home since they have to work tomorrow. And don't you too?"

"I do. There's food in the kitchen and some outside under a box turned upside down with rocks on it. And thank you so much for your help."

"Not a problem.", said Anna. Joseph and Hugh left, and Kate wondered where the horses and wagon would stay the night. She went to bed and awoke to the smell of food cooking and coffee. Kate felt terrible. That was her job.

It only took a few days before Ellen Starr heard the gossip about another doctor who had cured Mrs. Fraser. She knew this was Kate Munk's landlady and also knew the way there. Ellen decided an excursion was in order. She was in excellent health, so searching the neighborhood for this rumored doctor seemed worth it–anything to ease Jane's secret back pain.

Ellen went to Mrs. Fraser's house first. She knew Kate, but had never met her landlady. As the door opened, a sweet-faced woman stood there.

"I'm Ellen Starr, a friend of Kate's from Hull House."

Mrs. Fraser let her in and warmth enveloped her. The woman looked good for someone said to have been at death's door.

"Hello. Isn't it terrible outside.? May I take your coat?"

"Oh, please don't bother . I won't be long. I'm looking for the doctor that treated you. I'm a close friend of Jane Addams, and, frankly, she's doing too much. I'm trying to find someone to share the load."

Mrs. Fraser's face lit up. "Oh, it was Anna Frenchman. She was wonderful. I'm not sure where she lives, but one of the boarders at my friend's home knows her."

Ellen left with directions to Mrs. Wilson's house in her hand, and walked the short distance to that door. She spoke with Mrs. Wilson, who snooped in Joseph's room until she found Anna's address.

It was a bit of a walk to twelfth Street and Ellen's throat was feeling the cold. She searched for any attempt at an address. The neighborhood was not notorious for good signs. She noticed a tiny shop that was open and popped inside.

A bell above the door rang and a small man with glasses walked out, holding a cup of coffee.

"Hello. I'm trying to find Anna Frenchman. Do you know her?"

"Yes, Anna, I know."

"Do you know where she lives?"

"Yes, I know also."

"Would you tell me how to get there?"

"Ah, I will try this. Go out. Go right, one, two, three buildings. UP the left stairs. 3rd floor. Easy because is three and then three. On door is big feather. This is her place. Nice lady. You sick?"

"No, I help sick people sometimes and I want to get her help."

"That is good. I hope Anna is there."

"Thank you for your help, Mr...?"

"Hamrick."

"Mr. Hamrick."

Ellen went out and followed the directions, finding a door at the top of the stairs with a big feather painted on it. She knocked, holding her breath.

There were footsteps, then the door opened and an older woman with strong feathers and long white hair looked up at Ellen. This was not something Ellen often experienced, usually having to look up at everyone.

"Anna Frenchman?"

"Yes. Please come in. It's awful cold."

Ellen came in the door and it closed behind her.

"I'm Ellen Starr from Hull House."

"Oh yes, I've heard of you."

"I wanted to find you because Jane, my friend, has been working herself half to death giving medical help to everyone around here. She doesn't sleep enough, eat enough and she's worrying me. I thought if I found you, we could ask you to help..."

"I'm only a healer not a real doctor. I just help out my own people or their friends. I'm kind of scared to get in trouble.'

"Believe me, Anna, _no one_ cares enough about these people to report you. Jane never finished medical school, and she's been doling this for years."

"Well then, somebody needs to care about them. You know where I live. Send 'em to me. Or come and get me yourself."

.


	29. Chapter 29

Halstead Street, Chapter 29

by Simahoyo

It was a weekday afternoon. Mama Amari was home alone. No longer sewing gloves since her family was doing so well. She lingered over her cooking pot, testing a new recipe. The knock at the door startled her, but she put the pot over an unfired lid and answered the door.

The little newsboy shivered, as his teeth chattered. She knew him, of course, and pulled him inside with a one armed hug while closing the door against the bone chilling wind.

"Renaldo, you look so cold. Come closer to the stove. We have been worried about you and your friends. Are you still sleeping in the boiler room?"

Renaldo sniffled, holding back tears. He looked embarrassed. "A cop followed us down the coal chute and chased us out last night."

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" and Mama crossed herself. "You will stay here until we find a better place for you. Come. Eat something. I have polenta and my sauce. You will have that."

Renaldo sat down as Mama filled a bowl with hot polenta and her vegetable sauce. He gulped it down as if it might be snatched from him at any minute. Mama broke stale bread into his bowl and put more sauce on top. He ate that faster than her sons after a hard day of factory work. Then even though there was little in the house, she gave him the last of the milk. They were lucky enough that winter created a freezer on the fire escape, and an icebox at the point furthest from the stove.

Renaldo patted his stomach. "That was so good. I ain't eaten that good ever!"

"Where are your friends now?"

"Some found a few heat vents and are sleeping on top of them. I don't know about the rest of them."

"The church is letting people sleep there."

The newsboy stiffened. "We don't want no part of any Sunday School racket!"

"Renaldo, they open the doors so people won't be found frozen to death in the streets. I don't want that to happen to any of you."

"Heard there weren't no room at Hull House."

"I know. Please, tell them the church will welcome them and won't try to make them go to mass. Your clothes, are they warm enough for you when you sell the newspapers?"

"No, but I run around to get warm. It kinda works."

Mama opened her sewing box, formerly an orange crate. She took out Tomaso's outgrown things. "My son keeps growing. Will these fit you?"

His eyes grew round with disbelief. "Willikers, I never had nothing so nice before." He inspected the clothes, including the carefully darned socks. "No holes in the socks neither. This is Tip Top!"

Mama patter his shoulder–appalled at how thin it was. "I have to cook, if you want to change clothes, Giovanna put up a curtain for privacy. You can change there."

Renaldo ran toward the curtain, turned back and ran to Mama, giving her a hug, then back behind the curtain as Mama busied herself stretching dinner by adding odds and ends of anything left over in the, "icebox" and water.

"How do I look?", asked Renaldo.

He stood there, posing like Francesco in his newest clothing. His face was half embarrassed and half confident. Everything was just a bit too long. It wouldn't take long for him to grow into it.

"You look so handsome! When do you need to go to work selling the newspapers?"

"Early, before sunrise."

"My family goes then too. There will be no problems. I will find something for you to sleep warm with tonight."

Mama and the newsboy talked as she worked and Mama learned the condition of the worried her more than she dared show her guest. She knew these boys were a proud little makeshift family. She kept him telling stories of finding places to sleep or eat and getting, "rousted" by police or company men.

Renaldo had run away from a drunkard father who solved his problems with his fists. Mama was proud of the boy for getting away–and proud of Papa for being nothing like that. There were things Papa could teach this little newsboy.

After dark, the men came home from work. Mama was a bit surprised because Giovanna was usually home earlier. The noise of greetings, comments on dinner and hanging up coats was amplified when they noticed Renaldo.

"Hey, Renaldo, when did you get here?", asked Tomaso.

"Yes, and where are the others? Are they alright?", added Francesco.

Questions and explainations flew as Mama ignored it all and put dinner on the table. There was no guest chair, and Giovanna was late. Papa nodded at Renaldo to take hers.

"Where is Giovanna?" Mama's voice was between anxious and angry.

Francesco and Tomaso looked at each other and laughed. Tomaso used a high, girlish voice, "Oh Pasquale, explain to me the unions again." Francesco tried to deepen his reply, "My Giovanna, your eyes are so brown."

Everyone laughed, but Papa's raised eyebrows matched Mama's questioning look. It was then that the door opened and Giovanna was standing there.

"I'm sorry I was late. I was talking to Pasquale."

Papa opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she added, "Mrs. Wilson was there, and Joseph and Emil." Papa closed his mouth, thinking that Kate was perhaps a bad influence.

"Renaldo, good. I was afraid for you. Are the other boys..."

"We lost our boiler room. A cop found us. Mrs. Amari says the church is open to stay in. I'll tell the other s when we go to get our newspapers."

Giovanna nodded, got a plate and fork, and stood at the table. No one had to tell her that since she was late, she was going to have to let Renaldo have her chair.

Tomaso stopped eating to look closely at Renaldo. "You look good in my clothes."

"Thanks. I'm sure glad to have them. Thanks for growing so fast."Tomaso grinned, elbowing Francesco. "I you weren't so hard on your clothes, I coulda gotten hand me downs. You and Giovanna always get the newest ones."

"That's because we got born first. It's the only advantage to being older."Giovanna would have added that being the oldest girl was even more extra work, but didn't want to start an arguement with Papa. She suspected trhere would be plenty of those in the future. She and Pasquale were getting closer every day to the subject of marriage. She knew Mama would love it. She wasn't so sure about Papa. He liked Pasquale, but Papa wanted the best for his only daughter anmd she wasn't sure any man would impress her Papa.


End file.
